FREE WORLDS:

A WORLDS APART

ANTHOLOGY

Fiddler’s Green.................................................................1

Independence..................................................................39

Cotopaxi..........................................................................69

Alpha Priori...................................................................101

Triton Lyra....................................................................135

“Cherchez la Femme”...................................................169

Pioneers.........................................................................193

Electra IV......................................................................207

Captain Hepburn Has Some Ideas................................225

Copyright 2000-2020 All rights reserved

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FIDDLER’S GREEN

This story takes place almost two years into the

journey of Pegasus, about halfway between

Boadicéa and Winter. (Books 02 and 03)

Part One: From Queequeg’s Journal…

We weren’t even sure Fiddler’s Green existed. The files

recovered from Testament made one reference to a liner

visiting there three hundred years before the col apse,

and gave the system coordinates as 915 1965

Horologium. It was a relatively short deviation off our

course from Templar to Independence, which would

otherwise have been a long transit. After finding no

colony at the system identified for Templar, I think

Commander Keeler simply did not want to remain in

hyperspace for such a long stretch.

I, for one, was perfectly happy to get out of hyperspace

early. I don’t sleep wel in hyperspace. A good day’s

sleep for me is 300 naps of three minutes duration each.

I don’t know what it is, but I fal asleep and the next thing I know, it’s like nine hours have gone by. That almost

puts me out of my mind! I talked with a tabby who lives

with one of the drive engineers, Tybalt, who says the

same thing happens to him. He thinks its because in

normal space, we’re constantly brushing up against

other creatures that live in the same space but in

different dimensions and only cats can sense them. In

hyperspace, there is no other life, and nothing to draw us out of consciousness. I think Tybalt might have spent a

little too much time curled up on the top of the fusion

reactor (Not that I blame him. That’s a damb good place

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for a nap, always warm, gentle hum like your mother’s

purr.)

Pegasus transitioned two light days out from the system.

Fol owing standard procedures, they launched four

probes to the system. 915 1965 Horologium turned to be

a trinary system, a red giant sun with a red dwarf and a

white dwarf star occupying the outermost orbits. There

were six planets in al , al terrestrial bodies except for the white dwarves. The probes detected life on the fifth

planet which had a rich oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and

abundant water. It was tilted on its axis so that its north pole faced the gas giant and its south pole faced the

dwarf stars, making it warm at the poles with a frozen

belt around the equator.

By the time Pegasus was making her final orbital

corrections, we also knew that the planet contained

vegetation on a massive scale, including fern-like

structures over 3,000 meters in length. They couldn’t find solid evidence of human inhabitation, though. They

spotted some geometric shapes that could have been

structures, or could have been rocks. They decided to

dispatch two teams to the surface. Mil er would lead one

team, Lear the other. They chose a landing zone on a

relatively large plain, near some of the aforementioned

shapes that may, or may not have been, evidence of

human habitation.

The Aves Quentin and Victor launched on schedule. I

found a nice warm spot in one of the citrus gardens

where the light from the solar simulators was just perfect, and began the first in a pleasant series of about two

hundred and forty naps.

--- Avember 22, 7324 A.S.

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Part Two: On Board the Aves Quentin

Pegasus’s second officer emerged from the forward

head. TyroCommander Philip John Mil er Redifre was a

tal , lean man who kept his red hair cut tight to the scalp.

His cheekbones and chin were just a tad too prominent

and, together with his thin frame, always made older

women want to feed him. He smacked his half-gloved

hands together as he approached the forward sensor

and mapping station. "What have we got? Anything

good?"

Specialist Diaz, a lanky young officer whose narrow

and fine dark face was crowned with an incongruous

mop of tight blond curls, turned away from his station.

"Nothing the probes didn’t already tel us, a big expanse of ... swamps, marshes, bayous. It's like the delta of the

Sogmush river back on Sapphire, but on a continental

scale. It's amazing for a whole planet to have only one

uniform topography."

Mil er looked over Diaz's shoulder at the

topographical display, and pointed to a pattern of lines.

"What are those?"

Diaz shrugged. "They could be streambeds."

"Could they be roadways?" Redfire asked.

"They could be sensor distortions. From up here,

they could be almost anything." A blinding flash of light fil ed the cabin and the ship juddered hard enough to

make Redfire reach for an ‘Oh-Shit’ handle. "Kumba

yah!" exclaimed Diaz.

Redifre patted the young specialist's shoulder,

reminding himself that it was his first landing mission. "I better go upstairs and see what that was."

The specialist nodded. Redfire had a feeling Diaz

was glad to be rid of the distraction. He bypassed the lift

and clambered up the ladder to the command module.

He was feeling curiously ebul ient, probably a contact

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ebul ience from the massive forces of energy being

released outside the ship.

The canopy that domed the command module

showed nothing but opaque banks of dark green clouds,

occasionally lit by enormous flashes of lightning. "How

can you see through this?" Redfire asked the pilot.

"I can't," answered Flight Lieutenant Lawless. She

was the only other person in his party with real landing

team experience, having flown three missions to

Meridian and one to Eden. Redfire had not yet had the

opportunity to work with her, although she had taught

him some techniques with throwing weapons in

Pegasus’s Martial Arts Arena. She was a dark haired,

dark-eyed, and honey-skinned with a broad face that stil

managed to be comely. "The NAV systems keep giving

me impossible readings. I'm using the beacon from

Pegasus, but it keeps going in and out."

"Is Victor having the same problem?"

"I can't get a channel to Victor,” said the second seat operator, Flight Specialist Thrace. The turbulent

conditions were keeping both aviators busy.

Lawless pointed to a display. “Look at that, a second

ago it said we were at 12,000 meters. Now, it says 4,000.

I don't know what's going on, but that is not our rate of

descent. Look, now it's 8,000.”

Suddenly, the ship broke through the bottom deck of

the clouds to find itself a lot closer to the ground than

they had thought.

"More like 800 meters," Lawless cal ed out.

"Emergency maneuvers. Hold on!"

Redfire strapped himself into an open seat as the last

of the clouds flew past the canopy and the ship's terrain

warning began sounding. The ship was descending at

high supersonic. Lawless tried to pul Quentin out of the dive. The ship's attitude changed too abruptly for the

compensators to keep up. She struggled to level off, a

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maneuver that should have been smooth. Lawless

sensed it immediately. "Something's wrong."

"What?"

"He's not responding." As she spoke, a lightning bolt lashed out from the underside of the cloud deck and

stabbed Quentin's starboard wingblade. Instead of

fading, the lighting persisted, enveloping the ship in

electricity and ozone, crackling and sparking around the

ship for several seconds.

"Taj Bow!" Redfire watched his intruments flickering.

This should not be happening. The ship had been flight-

tested in solar flares and the electrical discharges of gas

giants. A mere lightning strike should not have disturbed

its systems.

"I can't hold her," Lawless reported. She touched the emergency beacon. " Pegasus, Aves Quentin reports an emergency..." before she could finish, the ship bucked

violently and al the instruments blanked out.

Quentin slammed into a deep, vegetation-choked

swamp and sent a sheet of water, mud, and pulverized

plant-life in a huge wave that reached for the sky then

crashed into the swamp. The ship bounced back and

rode the wave it had created another few hundred

meters before slamming into the water again.

The words "Crash Landing" were flashing on every

internal station. The ship’s crash protections saved the

crew from what should have been instant blunt-force

death. Redfire's seat had grabbed onto him mil eseconds

before impact, and he felt like he had been tied down to

a bed during an earthquake while a building col apsed

around him. He was one of the few people who knew just

exactly how that felt. He spared a glance to Lawless,

who was performing a post-landing check on her

controls, mostly by pounding on them.

"What were you thinking?" she yel ed.

"What?"

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"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped.

Redfire demanded a status check. "No structural

damage. Systems off-line. I’m guessing damage to the

external plating."

"So, where are we?"

Thrace made an informed guess. "Based on our

trajectory since the last reliable position check… We are

in the northern hemisphere somewhere."

"Could anyone give me a more meaningful answer?"

Diaz answered from the main deck. "We're in a body

of water comprising 200,000 hectares, is sixteen meters

deep where we are, and the nearest solid ground is

about 400 meters east-south-east from here."

"That's more useful."

"Also, we're sinking."

"What?" Redfire checked with Lawless.

She didn't have to answer him. They could feel the

ship beginning to cant as it began to sink into the

swamp.

Redfire turned to Lawless. "You said the hul was

intact. How can we be sinking?"

Lawless shook her head. "I don't know. We’re not

taking on water, but the ship's being dragged under.

We've got about ... four minutes to get out."

Redfire linked to the entire landing party. "Abandon

ship. Launch the watercraft.” He asked the second seat

operator to get him a line to Pegasus. “Quentin to Pegasus.... Pegasus, this is Tactical TyroCommander Redfire on board Quentin. Quentin is down. We have activated the emergency beacon. Acknowledge and

reply.” He waited, but nothing came back. “Is the

Emergency COM system down?"

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"Negative, we are transmitting." She unstrapped

herself.

"Set the beacon and get to the evacuation rafts. You

too, Lawless."

Lawless protested. "Don't use that tone with me,

commander. I've stil got three minutes and change to get

the system on-line."

Redfire checked the dorsal escape hatch. It was stil

above water, but it refused to open. He cursed again in

Borealian. "Taj Bow!" He opened the manual over-ride panel, which spat sparks at him. There was a lever inside

that he pul ed to the side. The seals delocked, He

grabbed one side, Diaz grabbed the other. He proved

remarkably stronger than Redfire would have guessed.

The hatch parted, letting in a shaft of unexpectedly bright

light. Redfire blinked, stepped backwards involuntarily,

then stuck his head into the hatch.

From the weather they had experienced on the way

down, he had expected a drenched, storm-tossed

landscape. Instead, there was a sparkling green sky,

streaked with many layers of clouds that somehow

managed not to seem overcast. The clouds hid the sun,

but seemed to glow everywhere from its light, The sky

was green turquoise tinged with a faint edge of sherbet

orange colors. Across the bog into which the ship had

landed, he saw a landscape of gentle green hil s

stretching off into the distance.

"Shal I release the boats, sir?" Diaz cal ed out.

Redfire nodded. Diaz touched the emergency panel

on the side of the hatch. He touched the life-raft release,

and quickly deployed a catamaran from a compartment

underneath the hatch.

"Diaz, Samsung, Dornier... Buck ... and you two

guys, take the first raft. Check your gear. Grab a pack."

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While they exited the ship in a calm orderly manner,

he went back into the command module and cal ed,

"Lawless!"

"I've almost got it."

"Let it go!"

The back end of the ship was completely immersed,

although there was no water in the cabin, and apparently

none in any of the ship's outer chambers. There were no

breaches anywhere on the outer fuselage. Strange, the

ship's natural buoyancy should have kept it afloat. He

quickly scanned for a malfunction in the gravity engine

that might be causing the ship's weight to increase,

canceling out buoyancy. There was no sign of such a

malfunction.

The remaining crew were piling into the second

catamaran. "Lawless, let's go. We're out of time."

Finally yielding to the reality of their situation,

Lawless unstrapped herself from the command seat. "Al

right, al right."

"Get your landing jacket on. You'll need it."

She was already pul ing it on. "Right... Right..."

Redfire climbed through the hatch and jumped onto

the boat. "Come on."

"Right," Lawless yel ed. She paused to seal the

escape hatch and patted the side of her ship. "Please

don't sink," she whispered, then climbed into the boat.

"Check... this ... out," said Specialist Buck, a short, red-headed man, who Mil er recognized as part of the

ship's wrestling club. He was staring off toward the

shoreline.

The stretch that of swamp that lay between them and

solid ground was overhung, actual y crossed, by long thin

branches, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Between them, long thick cables of vines wove and

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twisted, festooned with leaf-like structures ranging in size

from a few centimeters to several meters in length, in a

variety of shapes. Some of the larger ones were moving

of their own accord, while the smal er leaves merely

twitched in the breeze.

The first boat was already passing under them. Its

occupants bent lower, as if in fear that the trees would

reach down and grab them.

"Com link to Pegasus?" Mil er requested.

The answer came back at him, fast, low, distorted by

a passage through the thick, heavy air. "Negative."

"Com link to Victor?"

"Negative."

Redfire checked his tracker. Quentin’s emergency

beacon was delivering a strong, steady pulse. At least,

Pegasus should be able to find them. He adjusted his

visual filter. "So, Welcome to Fiddler's Green."

For a few minutes al was quiet, but for the gentle

hum of the propulsion systems. Diaz went to the fore of

the catamaran, and scanned the shoreline with his

tracker.”Uh, ... commander... I think this planet is

inhabited.”

Redfire held up his sensor glove and zoomed in on

the shoreline. A loose knot of people had gathered at

the water’s edge, a half-dozen or more, roughly dressed.

Their clothing was rustic; shirts in brown, white, or a red-

and-white checkered pattern. Their pants were a faded

blue, and extended over the front of the shirts with a bib-

like extension, held up by a strap over each of the

shoulders. Two of them held up a banner, on which was

crudely scrawled the words, "WELCUM SPACE

PEEPLE!"

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Part Three – Fiddler’s Green

Redfire stepped forward, and came over suddenly

light-headed. Lifting his arm in greeting, he could almost

see little whorls in the dense, humid air when his hand

passed through it. “Greetings. I am Tactical

TyroCommander Philip John Redfire of the Pathfinder

Ship Pegasus.” He looked up at the sign. “How did you know...?”

He was answered by a spindly old man, whose skin

was as brown and tough as wel -worm leather. A stringy

beard hung from his lower chin. He looked up at Redfire,

for he was a head and a half shorter, and said “You’re

from space, ain’t ya?”

“Za, but how did you know?”

“Wel ,” the old man drawled, “You sure ain’t from

around here.”

The Lingotron had picked up the language with few

irregularities. At least something was working.

Another, heavier man, in slightly finer clothing came

forward. “Now, Zeb, that’s no way to greet the new

colonists.”

New colonists? “So this is the colony of Fiddler’s

Green, then,” Redfire asked.

The first man shook his head. “Actual y, we ain’t

cal ed it Fiddler’s Green for ages. We just cal it Green.

It’s shorter.”

“It’s shorter,” agreed a heavy-set woman. The crowd

muttered agreement that “Green” was shorter.”

“Of course, if you want to cal it Fiddler’s Green, go

right on ahead.” the second man continued, his voice like

an out-of-tune woodwind, squeaking, yet somehow

ingratiating. “Fiddler’s Green, the gem of the Outer

Commonwealth.” He offered his hand. “Hoyt Clagwel , at

your service.”

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Redfire took the hand and they share an awkward

handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Clagwell.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Clagwell replied. “Now, the first

order of business, with welcoming these new colonists is

the landing fee.”

“Landing Fee?” Redfire asked.

“The Fee for landing in our swamp, and disruptin’ the

fine and delicate eco-system of that protected wetland

environment. Once the fee is settled, of course, you’l be

wanting to set up your homesteads.”

“We didn’t some here to colonize,” Redfire final y

said, his voice sounding vaguely rubbery.

“Wel , it doesn’t look like you’l be leaving any time

soon,” Clagwell jerked his thumb toward the swamp as

Quentin gurgled toward the bottom. “Now, I have several prime acreages available in the lush and beautiful

Henning Val ey…”

Redfire turned back and looked out over the water.

Curiously, there was no damage to the plants that

overhung the landing zone, as though they had moved

aside to let the ship enter, then closed again.

“We did not come here to colonize,” Redfire

repeated. “We come from two of humanity’s other

colonies, the worlds of Sapphire and Republic in the

constel ation of Pegasus.”

The crowd began shaking their heads. “Nope,” they

said, in a babble of nay-saying. “Never heard of them.”

Redfire continued, “Sapphire and Republic are two

colonies in a double-star system about 300 light years

from here.”

“360,” Diaz corrected.

“360, we have recovered the technology for inter-

stel ar travel and are trying to seek out the other lost

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colonies across the galaxy. We’re searching for the

human homeworld... Earth.”

“Now, that one we’ve heard of,” said the reedy-voiced man.

A large woman fol owed by two others moved to the

front of the assembly. The people of Sapphire and

Republic had developed control over their metabolisms

mil ennia before, and obesity was extremely rare, almost

always the result of a physical malady or a personal

fashion statement. This woman was enormous, with rol s

and slabs of flesh wrapped in a floral print dresss,

capped with straw-colored hair knotted into a bun. A pig

came trotting along behind her, snorting briskly.

Redfire tried to continue. “We would like the

opportunity to make first contact, reunite your world with

other human colonies, and study any records you might

have from the...”

The old scrawny man, Zeb, held up a hand. "Hold on,

now. That's the mayor. I think he wants to say a few

words."

The pig grunted enthusiastically. Redfire knelt down

and addressed the pig. "Greetings, Mr Mayor."

The pig sniffed at him and grunted some more.

Redfire turned to the townspeople, "Does he talk?"

"Do pigs talk where you come from?" Zeb Riffle

asked grumpily.

"Neg."

"Wel , why do you expect he would?" asked the fat

woman.

Was it the heavy air making him feel dizzy, or some

subliminal confusion. Something was making Redfire feel

uncomfortable, even embarrassed. "Cats and dogs can

talk. I just thought... maybe, on this planet, pigs had been

enhanced as wel . How can he be your leader if he can't

even talk?"

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"He won the election, fair and square," Mr. Riffle

explained.

The pig snorted urgently.

Zeb rol ed his eyes. "Everybody knows it was a

landslide. You don't have to remind us every time it's

brought up."

Another man spoke up. "Look, the mayor doesn't

have to do anything. Nothing's changed around here in

the last three thousand years. Might as wel give the job

to a pig. What else has a pig got to do?"

“That’s a good point,” said Lawless. She scratched

the little porker’s chin. “Hey, Little fel a, my ship is sunk in that swamp over there. How are we going to get it out?”

The pig responded with a series of happy grunts.

Clagwel ’s sharp, smarmy voice spoke again.

“Ma’am, what you need is a spaceship

deswampificator.”

“A spaceship deswampificator?” Lawless said

cautiously.

Clagwel doffed is his hat. “You see, your problem is

that your spaceship has been swampified. If you want to

deswampificate your spaceship, you need a spaceship

deswampificator.”

“Do you have a spaceship deswampificator?” Diaz

asked.

“No, but I can order one and have it here tomorrow

for the low price of …”

He was cut off by the COM Link in Redfire’s cuff

giving out an attention signal. Redfire responded quickly,

as though it were a lifeline to sanity. “Landing Party here,

go ahead.”

They were answered by a burst of static, punctuated

by the distant wail of alarms. A look of concern passed

Redfire’s face. "Pegasus?"

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Commander Keeler's voice came back, above a

storm of distortion. "Landing party … Pegasus … We're

having some problems up here."

"Explain."

"… unable to maintain orbit. … since your landing

team departed … orbit decaying… repeating, we are stil

closing on the planet."

"Cause?"

There was a pause, and then Change answered.

"We can not isolate a cause."

"How long?" Redfire asked.

Keeler’s voice came back on, stronger now, cutting

through the static. "At our current rate of descent, Mr.

Alkema tel s me we will impact the surface in less than

eleven hours… probably a lot less. If we're lucky, we can

bring the ship down more or less intact, but even if we

do, it'll never lift-off again." Keeler paused for emphasis.

"Our mission would end here."

That had always been Keeler’s greatest fear, Redfire

thought, that Pegasus would fail to find Earth and

complete her mission.

"We're standing by to evacuate the ship. If our

situation doesn't change in the next eight hours, we'll

begin launching Aves in Exodus mode."

Redfire responded. "Prime Commander, we were

lucky to get their ship down without cracking it up. If you

send down more ships, we can't guarantee their safety.

Commander … Commander … " He looked up. “I’ve lost

contact.”

Everybody was quiet for a moment, and then

Clagwel said. “Looks like you’re going to need two

spaceship deswampificators,”

---

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“Okay, let’s take stock of our situation,” Redfire

began. “Our ship is in the drink. Pegasus is crashing, and al of the people on this planet …”

“… are trying to be very helpful,” Lawless cut him off.

Redfire had ordered the crew to organize whatever COM

gear they had salvaged from the ship and try to gain a

clear channel to Victor. Their instruments invariably failed as soon as they were engaged. The latest effort,

involving a gray box attached to a clear blue cylinder had

just erupted in a column of smoke and sparks.

“So much for the neutrino beacon,” said Diaz. He

shook his head. “Commander, this is not possible.”

“What isn’t possible, Diaz?”

“It is not possible for that instrument to explode. It

doesn’t generate heat. It doesn’t use electricity. How can

it be giving off smoke and electrical sparks?”

“Easy Kil er,” Redfire said as reassuringly as he

could. His real impulse at the moment was to drop kick

the malfunctioning instrument into the swamp.

Diaz was right. Al of their equipment was failing in

the same way, exploding like an electrical appliance

dropped into a immersion bath. There was no rhyme or

reason to it.

His frustration was increased by having to constantly

refuse the fat woman’s offer of ham, buttermilk, and other

local delicacies.

Another local man appeared at Redfire’s side. No

one had seen him approach. He just sort of appeared.

He was a perfectly ordinary looking specimen, dressed in

pale tan jacket and pants. He also wore a hat and a sort

of relaxed and dazed expression; like a frequent

indulgent of recreational pharma. “What’s going on?” he

asked.

“We have to help these folks find a spaceship

deswampificator,” Hoyt Clagwell told the new man. “Their

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spaceship crashed in the swamp out behind Zeb Riffle’s

place.”

“Oh, another one,” said the new man.

Redfire turned around. “Another? You mean other

ships have crashed into that swamp.”

“Wel , yeah, it happens al the time.” A pause. “Wel ,

not al the time. My predecessor’s spaceship crashed

there, but that was three thousand years ago. So, I

guess it happened a lot three thousand years ago. Wel ,

not a lot, but more often than lately, I guess you’re the

only ship that’s crashed there, lately.”

“Who are you,” Redfire asked.

The man stuck out his hand. “Henry Limbalk,

Commonwealth Development Authority,” he answered

with a kind of salute. “I was sent out here to advise this

colony and guide it to self-sufficiency. Wel , not me

personal y, my ancestor. I inherited the job. Wel , not

real y inherited, … more like…”

“Real helpful,” Redfire muttered, as he turned back to

Diaz.

Limbalk snapped his fingers. “Hey! You know who

might be able to help them out. The Wilsons?”

“The Wilsons?” Lawless asked.

“Clarence and Eva Wilson. They bought the old the

old Henning place. Wel , they didn’t actual y buy it, their

ancestors bought it. Wel , not their actual ancestors.”

Redfire was getting the kind of headache the

caffeine-addicted got when their caffeine was cut off.

“Why would they be able to help us?”

The inhabitants murmured to each other, as though

they did not know exactly why, but they knew that the

landing party had to meet with the Wilsons, and it was up

to them to provide the motivation for that meeting.

Finally, one of the older men, bald, with drooping eyes,

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but a sense of time-washed dignity about him, spoke up.

“The Wilsons never real y fit in here.”

The scraggly man with the beard agreed. “Naw, the

Wilsons ... they ain’t like us.”

“What do you mean?”

“City-folk.”

“City-folk,” Redfire said. “Do you mean there are

cities on this planet.”

“Naw, but if there was cities, that’s where the Wilsons

would live.”

“The wife is real nice,” the fat woman put in, “but the

man is a hothead.”

The bald man gestured for the fat woman to hush.

“Anyway, they’re outsiders, like you are, but they seem to

have the lay of the land figured out, and Clarence Wilson

is a pretty sharp fel ow.”

“Where can we find these … Wilsons…” Redfire

asked.

He pointed. “Other side of that hil , and then over the

next one, past the one after that, and just before you get

to the next one, that’s the Old Henning place. That’s

where the Wilsons live.”

Part Four – The Old Henning Place

Despite Redfire’s entreaties, the inhabitants thought it

best to accompany the travelers on their way to “The

Wilson Place.” The journey took longer than they would

have liked. Some of the hil s were overgrown, some of

the trails were blocked with rocks, and making the

crossing required side-tracks and doubling back.

Redfire’s chronometer had failed, but he was guessing

Pegasus, if they did not fix the problem, was no more than a couple of hours from being “swampificated.”

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By now, it was night. High up in the sky, Redfire

could see the planet’s moon, which seemed to have

found the only break in the clouds. It was faintly green,

and the features visible on its surface formed a face like

a fiendish imp, reminding him for a moment of the

Festival of Masks with which sub-tropical cities on his

homeworld greeted the Vernal Equinox.

“There it is,” said Mr. Limbalk. “Wel , I don’t mean it, I

mean the Wilson’s house. Wel , not the Wilson’s house,

but the house where the Wilsons live. Wel , not al the

time, I mean they do come out occasional y, but they do

sleep and eat there. I suppose they could ...”

Redfire looked down at the homestead, a ramshackle

house and a few tumbledown out-buildings. The Wilsons

seemed barely able to keep up repairs on their own

property. How could they possible help rescue Quentin

and keep Pegasus from suffering the same fate?

These thoughts, and exhaustion from the trail,

dogged him as he knocked at the rotting wooden door to

the Wilson home. Although they knew nothing about

fashion standards on Green, the clothes worn by the

man who opened the door and greeted then were far

more formal than any they had seen. Redfire greeted

him. “Mr. Wilson?”

“I am Clarence Thomas Wilson,” the man said. His

voice was also dignified. “Please to make your

acquaintance, Mr. …?”

“Tactical TyroCommander Philip John Mil er Redfire

of the Pathfi nder Ship Pegasus.”

“Pathfinder Ship … from the Commonwealth?"

“Not exactly…”

Before he continued, a lilting woman’s voice cal ed

from the other room. “Darling, is that someone at the

door?”

“It’s a tactical commander from a starship.”

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A woman appeared behind him. She was much

younger than Mr. Wilson, or at least appeared to be so.

Her face was covered with immaculately applied

cosmetics. Her hair was yel ow-gold, arrayed in precise

curls stacked on top of her head. She wore what looked

like lacy satin bedclothes, not the kind young wives wore

with no intention of sleeping in them, but the kind older

wives wore with no intention of not sleeping in them.

Mr. Wilson introduced her. “This is my wife, Eva.”

“Hel o, dears,” she said in an accent unlike any

spoken by the other inhabitants. “Mr. Clagwell, Mr.

Limbalk, Mr. Zucker, Mr and Mrs Riffle… so wonderful of

you to drop in. Come in, everyone. Come in.”

The interior of the house suffered from the same poor

construction and neglect as the outside. However, the

furnishings, sofas, chairs, were models of outstanding

craftsmanship. The paintings on the wal s were clearly

originals, and very good originals indeed, but they were

mounted on wal s whose wal paper was faded and

peeling and where great gaps exposed the construction

materials underneath.

Redfire settled in and explained the situation,

beginning with Pegasus and concluding with the crash-

landing in the swamp, as Clarence Thomas Wilson

listened attentively. Eva offered to bring them cups of a

local beverage, and they politely accepted. When they

saw the beverage was in fact, thick and dark as

unrefined hydro-carbons, they demurred, at which point

she tossed their cups through an open window, and sat

down beside her husband.

“You say this ship of yours, this Pegasus, is about to

crash into the swamp, too.”

Za.”

“With how many people on board?”

“Almost seven thousand.”

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“Don’t you have a spaceship deswampificator?” Eva

asked.

“Oh, for crying out loud, there is no such thing as a

spaceship deswampificator,” Clarence Wilson steamed.

He pointed to Mr. Clagwell. “Three thousand years ago,

his ancestor tried to sel my ancestor a spaceship

deswampificator to get his own ship out of that swamp.

He paid six hundred Commonwealth Intercreds for a

device that was nothing more than a water pump

connected to a waffle iron… and it exploded when he

turned it on.”

“Wel , sir, I believe that unit is out of warranty,” said

Clagwel .

“Get out of my house!” Wilson thundered.

“I told you he was a hothead,” said the fat woman.

Redfire tried to bring the group back on topic. “Mr.

Wilson, we were told that you have some special insight

into the planet that might help us prevent our ship from

crashing here, because you’re something of an

outsider.”

"They have treated my family as outsiders ever since

we emigrated here from Atlas."

Redfire perked up. "Atlas...?"

“You’ve never heard of Atlas?”

"Atlas was one of the Old-Line Earth colonies, and

one of the greatest, if I remember my colonial history.”

"Atlas was one of the first colonies, the largest and

most powerful. Eighty bil ion people lived there when my

ancestor left."

"Eighty bil ion?" Diaz said incredulously.

"Four bil ion of them lived in the New Gotham-

Saratoga-Empire City Megalopolis, a huge city that ran

over a thousand kilometers down the eastern seaboard

of the northern continent and another two hundred

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kilometers inland. According to my ancestor's journals,

he could stand at the window on the eighty-fifth floor of

his inhabitation complex, and look out across a

landscape of skyscrapers stretching from the horizon to

the sea." He pul ed out what looked like an ancient

photograph, color and depth long-washed out of it,

encased in a kind of crystal ine frame.

"Did your ancestors also come from Atlas?" Lawless

asked Eva.

"Oh, no, dear. My ancestors were Be’Trobi. My 543rd

great grandfather was a prince of the Be’Trobi."

"Oh, he was not," Clarence objected.

"He vas."

"Who were the Be’Trobi?" Lawless wanted to know.

"Be’Trobi never settled on any planet, at least not for

very long. They moved from place to place. They were

passing by this planet, when my ancestor’s ship broke

down, and they couldn't leave because they couldn't get

a tow-truck."

Mr. Wilson rol ed his eyes. “Oh, Eva, not again with

the tow truck.”

“This is al very interesting,” Redfire put in, “but it isn’t helping us keep our ship from crashing into the swamp.”

Mr. Wilson sighed. “My ancestor was lured to this

planet with the promise of leaving behind the chaos and

noise of that urban nightmare for a simple life on an

agricultural colony. He just wanted to grow crops, to plant

seeds in the ground and nurture them toward the sun,

and make a fortune on the Atlas Galactic Commodities

Futures Exchange. The ground on this planet is fertile

enough. My crops do wel , as they have for thousands of

years, but no technology works on this planet; nothing

more advanced than a few simple tools, or some simple

mechanical devices. Everything else breaks.”

“Do you know why?” Redfire asked.

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“My forebears have always held that it has something

to do with the planet’s magnetic field, the way the thick

atmosphere accelerates the corrosion of electronic

instruments.”

“Our ship isn’t on the planet, though...”

“Not yet,” snorted Mr. Limbalk.

“Even if the magnetic field reached that far, Pegasus

is too heavily shielded for its systems to be effective.”

“Unless some other type of energy is penetrating

them,” Diaz suggested.

Eva interrupted. “I think it’s because of the tree-

men.”

Clarence Thomas Wilson rol ed his eyes. “Eva ...”

“The Tree-men?” Redfire said.

“The little green men who live in the trees.”

“Eva, people have been exploring this planet for

thousands of years and no one has ever seen a little

green tree-man.”

“That’s because they’re invisible.”

“If they’re invisible, how can they be green?”

“They’re an invisible shade of green.”

“Are you saying aliens?” Redfire asked.

“No, they’re just little men who live on this planet.

They like people. They think people are entertaining.

That’s why we can’t make any electronicals, because

then we might have ships that would let us leave. They

want to bring your ship down, so they have more people

to keep them company.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Mr. Wilson moaned.

“Maybe if you asked them very nicely to let your ship

go, they would let it go and not swampificate it.”

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There was another knock at the door. “Now, who

could that be?” Wilson said irritably.

Eva stood. “It’s amazing we get any visitors at al ,

what with you being such a hothead.” She crossed to the

door. When she opened it, she exclaimed. “Oh, look,

more people from the Findpathers.”

Redfire turned to the door to see Executive

Commander Lear, her aviator, and two crewmen from

the Aves Victor standing in the doorway. Redfire was

almost happy to see her, which he would have bet real

money on never happening.

“Pathfinders,” Mr. Wilson corrected.

“How do you do, sir.” Lear said, smiling pleasantly. "I

am Executive Commander Lear of the Pathfinder ship

Pegasus."

“Clarence Thomas Wilson and my wife Eva,” he

shook her hand graciously.

Exec. Commander Lear crossed the room, having to

divert behind the fat woman to reach him. “Report,

Tactical Commander Redfire.”

“Quentin crashed in a swamp. Pegasus is fal ing out of orbit.”

“I’ve been advised of that. You disappeared off our

sensors just as we broke cloud cover. We landed about

ten kilometers east of here ... on dry land," Lear reported.

She brushed the immaculate front of her uniform and

addressed the crowd. "Which of you is the leader,

here?"

Everyone except Clarence Thomas Wilson pointed at

the pig. Lear looked at him. "Oh, ... does he talk?"

"Neg," Redfire answered.

Lear looked perplexed for a moment.

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“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the squeaky voiced man,

doffing his hat. “Did you say your ship set down about

five miles in that direction.”

“It did. We had some trouble on descent, but ...”

“Wel then, you won’t mind paying the premium de-

luxe, solid ground landing fee.”

Another perplexed look crossed her face as she tried

to think of a response. Wilson bailed her out. “Mr.

Clagwel , would you get out of my house.”

“Not on my account,” Lear chirped. Diplomacy was

far firmer ground for her.

“Getting back to the problem at hand... our ship is

crashing to the surface.” Redfire turned to Lear. “How our

your instruments holding up?”

“Most of the gear we brought to the surface is failing.

It was al we could do to keep the beacon locator

activated long enough to find you.”

Redfire’s head began to throb harder, like a

hangover. “Pegasus doesn’t have much time left.

Executive Commander Lear, may I borrow your external

COM link?”

She graciously handed him the mobile unit from her

landing jacket. “What are you going to do?”

“I owe a report to Prime Commander Keeler. I’l be

outside.”

“You’l have to move to higher ground,” she advised.

“Something about the surface polarity of this planet

interferes with communication signals. If you can get to

the roof, you’l have clearer communications.”

“Thanks,” he said. “If you folks will excuse me.”

---

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Redfire walked outside. The moon was stil protruding

through the cloud cover, and it was stil leering at him. It

was creepy.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He would not

have bet on the roof of any of the structures on the

Wilson place to support his weight. He looked at one of

the tree-like things in the yard, but dismissed that idea

when he saw one of its branches curl expectantly. Where

could he go to get above the ground?

He almost bumped into the pole. It was thick and

wooden, with hand-holds in the form of metal rods

extending on either side. At the top, wires stretched off

toward town. Of course, if you lived in a planet where

active electromagnetic energy in the atmosphere made

communication difficult, you would use a direct wire

arrangement. He mounted the pole, which raised him five

meters or so above the ground. He activated Lear’s

communicator. “Redfire to Pegasus.”

Keeler’s voice answered. “We receive you clearly

Commander Redfire.”

“Status?”

“We’re about twelve minutes from entering the

atmosphere and we can not stop our descent.”

“Have you looked for exotic forms of energy that

might be pul ing you down, or interfering with

instruments?”

“Gee, why didn’t we think of that. Oh, wait, we did,

about ten hours ago.” He paused, “Sorry, Ranking Philip,

but you have to realize we have pursued every possible

lead without success. We are hoping you learned

something on the planet that we can use to save us.”

Redfire felt acutely embarrassed. Anything he

reported to the Commander was going to sound trite in

view of the circumstances. “I regret to inform you,

commander, that I doubt anything we have learned here

wil be of interest to you.”

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“Tel me anyway. Anything you have learned may

help us. We’re almost out of ideas up here.”

Redfire sighed. “The surface looks just as the probes

reported from space. There is a colony here, captain. Its

leader is apparently a pig.”

“That’s an undiplomatic description,” Keeler

responded.

“Neg, a literal pig, a pork-beast.”

“Oh, I get it. Does it talk?”

“Neg.”

“So, they’re led by a non-talking pig.”

“Wel , not real y led…” Redfire almost bit his tongue.

Now, he was doing it. “The colonists appear to be

agrarian. No advanced technology. Al of the technology

we brought with us is breaking down as wel . Quentin

sank into a swamp for no logical reason, but Victor

landed safely.”

Keeler paused a long time before suggesting, “Have

you discussed our predicament with the colonists.”

“Za, sir.”

“Have the colonists offered any explanation to you?”

“The closest thing to a logical explanation is that the

planet’s electromagnetic field and atmosphere lead to the

breakdown of technology.”

“But your communicator is working.”

“Because I’m not standing on the ground. I had to

climb a tal pole…” He realized how this must sound.

“Anyway, that stil doesn’t explain Pegasus.”

“Have they offered any non-logical explanations?”

“Al they say is that ships always crash into the

swamp. That’s why Pegasus is coming down, because

ships always crash into the swamp.”

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“Do you think something in the swamp is pul ing the

ships in?” Keeler asked

“Neg, neg… I talked to the people here. One lady

says its because the invisible green tree men like human

beings and so they crash our ships into the swamp so we

have to live here and they won’t al ow us to develop any

technology because then we’d leave… but she seemed

even crazier than the rest of them, though.”

“Have you actual y seen these little green men?”

“Neg, they’re invisible.”

There was a long silence. Then, Keeler spoke again.

“Did the lady indicated that the invisible little green men

could help us?”

“Wel ,” Redfire bit his tongue and almost didn’t tel

him. “The lady told us if I asked the Tree-Men very

nicely, they would let Pegasus go and not crash it into

the swamp.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay,” said Commander Keeler, “I’m going to try to

explain this quickly. You think the inhabitants of this

world behave irrational y, but their irrationality does fol ow a pattern, correct?”

Redfire guessed so; there did seem some kind of

consistency to their insanity. “Za?”

“Al right, so listen. Our expectations of logic are

based on the relationships of cause and effect as they

exist on our world. We rely on the theory that these laws

are the same throughout the universe. However, it is also

possible that there are little pockets of the universe

where our kind of logic does not prevail.

“Now, imagine that one of the pockets of the universe

where things just don’t make sense is the planet we cal

Fiddler’s Green. Nothing there works the way it should.

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Logic gets stood on its head. The inhabitants have

adjusted their expectations of cause and effect to the

condition of their world. You have to do the same.”

“So you mean ...”

“Ten minutes to atmospheric entry,” he heard

someone shout.

“Talk to the dambed trees!” Keeler shouted.

“The Tree-Men,” Redfire corrected softly. “Then, you

believe they exist.”

“People on Earth used to believe in fairies sprites and

elves, too. They didn’t exist, but they gave people away

of understanding things they couldn’t explain. Those

invisible green men may or not be real, but they are more

likely a kind of local mythology the colonists have

constructed to explain the disconnect between the

normal universe and the reality of life on their world. If

asking them to release our ship is the only advice you’ve

got, I suggest you fol ow it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know that, Ranking Philip, but it fits the only theory

I have left. Just ask the tree-men to release the ship and

keep me on an open COM link.”

“Al right, Redfire out.”

“Good luck, Ranking Philip, see you soon, but not too

soon I hope.”

“Tactical TyroCommander Redfire,” Lear’s voice

cal ed. He looked below to see the vil agers and the crew

had gathered to watch him. Of course, his humiliation

would have meant nothing without an audience. “What is

happening?”

“I am about to obey a direct order from Prime

Commander Keeler,” he answered. He looked off toward

the woods and swamp and began shouting. “I am going

to ask any … any little green tree men who may be

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listening to please not crash the Pathfinder ship Pegasus into the swamp. Please.”

He thought for a moment, coming up with more

things to say. “Pegasus is on a very important mission.

We’re trying to find the lost colonies of the former

Galactic Commonwealth, We’ve already visited five

worlds, six with this one, that stil have people on them.

We’re trying to find Earth, the world al humans original y

came from. We like your planet, we like it just fine, but

we aren’t meant to be here. So, please, please, release

our ship and let us continue our journey, peaceful y.”

He paused a moment. “We would be eternal y

grateful. Once again, I implore you, please release our

ship and let us be on our way.”

“Atmospheric entry in nine minutes,” came the voice

in his communicator.

Redfire shouted louder. “Look, if you won’t release us

out of compassion, then consider self-interest. There are

a lot of people on board Pegasus, but half of them are Republickers, and Republickers are way too uptight to be

entertaining. The first thing they wil want to do when

they crawl out of the swamp is get this place organized.

They’ll start up bureaucracies, filing systems,

committees, public hearings on every detail of life. You

wil find yourselves bored to the extreme.

“You should also know that we have certain weapons

that, wel , if they broke down due to interference from

your atmosphere, might accidental y detonate and

destroy the entire planet. And, then, there’s Technician

Roebuck…”

“In any case, the people of Pegasus aren’t like your

colonists, and we have no intention of being like your

colonists. We wil fight you. We wil resist you. We have a

lot of intel igence between us. Even if we ultimately fail,

we can do a lot damage in the process. If you have

learned anything about humans, you know I’m right. In

the end, it is not going to be worth the trouble.

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“And if Pegasus goes down, the homeworlds are not

going to be very happy. They wil send more ships to see

what happened to us. Eventual y, they wil figure out how

to rescue us, and how to punish those that trapped us

here.”

“Seven minutes to atmospheric entry,” came the

voice. This wasn’t working and he felt ridiculous,

pleading into the night, where no one was listening.

“Look, I’l make you a deal. Al of the people on the

planet right now will stay behind if you release Pegasus.

Let the rest of them go and just keep us.” He waited for a

response.

“Two minutes to atmospheric entry.”

“Al right,” Redfire cal ed. “You leave me no choice.”

He loosed his handhold and jumped to the surface,

landing hard. He grabbed a landing pack from one of

Victor’s crewman and climbed the pole again.

“Eighty seconds to atmospheric entry.”

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he shouted. Redfire to

Pegasus. Lt. Navigator Change, I am preparing to

engage the swampification evadicator.”

“The what?”

“Hold on tight.” He opened the landing pack and

surveyed its contents; spectrum analyzer, water purifier,

first aid kit… final y his eyes lit upon the appropriate

instrument. He lifted the beacon locator from the Victor

above his head. “Engaging the swampification evadicator

in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Now.”

The beacon locator erupted in a fit of smoke and

spark and sent a sting of electricity through his arm that

almost jerked out of its socket. A blue-green beam shot

up and out of the device and into the clouds.

The beacon locator was not designed to emit

anything in the visible spectrum. The beam persisted for

many seconds, growing in brightness and intensity.

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”Pegasus I have engaged the swampification

evadicator. Can you confirm you have returned to your

proper orbit.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Redfire looked

toward the swamp. If he had failed, in a few moments,

the entire ship would crash spectacularly into its

vegetation-choked depths.

“Keeler to Redfire,” came a voice.

“Redfire here.”

There was a relief in his voice the Commander was

scarcely able to conceal. “Pegasus has resumed orbit at 57,000 kilometers, with no sign of decay.”

“Acknowledged, Redfire out,” He breathed a sigh of

relief that almost col apsed him to the ground.

---

They stood on the shore of the swamp where they

had first made landfal . “Diaz, bring me the spaceship

deswampificator from the Victor.”

“The what, sir?”

“The spaceship deswampificator …, um, that we also

as an atmospheric purifier when we don’t have a

spaceship to deswampificate.”

Redfire turned toward the swamp. The moon was stil

protruding through the clouds, making a smal pool of

light on the surface.

“Activate the deswampificator,” he cal ed out over the

water.

There was silence. The world held its heavy breath.

“Please!” Redfire whispered.

A rippling circle appeared in the midst of the swamp.

Al at once, a column of water shot into the sky with the

Ave at the top of it, riding the wave like a surfing bird.

The ship rose in a high, perfect arch and then, canting

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toward its left-side wing, it fel to the ground, landing

barely ten meters from the shore where the Tactical

Commander was standing. On impact, it kicked up mass

of soggy mud and rotted vegetation that rained down

over Redfire, coating him face to toenials with the filthy

soggy mess.

Redfire wiped handfuls of foul-smel ing rotted gunk

from his eyes and mouth. The impact had opened a

latitudinal crack across Quentin’s command module, as

though the ship were grinning at him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Epilogue: Queequeg’s journal.

And after that, they returned to the ship without further incident. The breach on Quentin’s forward hul was

serious, but the ship was salvageable.

As for further contacts with the inhabitants of Fiddler’s Green, we have left that issue to the home-worlds.

Commander Keeler decided not to send a fol ow-up

landing party and we left orbit only a few days after we

arrived.

I sat at the Captain’s side while he reviewed the mission reports. At times he became so involved he forgot I was

there, and I found it necessary to interpose myself

between him and his reader and rub my furry little butt in his face. – 8 Sectember 7324

“Hey!” said the commander as Queequeg rubbed his

furry little butt in his face.

“Starship captain's who ignore their cats do so at

their peril,” Queeqeeg said. The cat looked over his

notes and determined his Commander was way off track.

”So, what happened down there, boss? I know you have

a theory. You always have a theory.”

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Keeler tapped the side of his brandy glass

thoughtful y. “There is colonial lore about a planet that

had actual y evolved intel igence, a literal y sentient

world. Its electromagnetic field formed its cognitive

synapses. What if this planet did have some kind of

sentience? What if it longed for the company of other

sentient beings. Pegasus herself is nearly sentient. What if it found a way to draw our ship near to its surface?”

Queequeg would have laughed, but he could only

purr, which was just as good. “You think we encountered

a planet that thinks?”

“Put it together, Queequeg. The planet had an

incredibly active, very strange magnetic field. We could

not figure out why we were descending, but suppose the

planet was able to put the idea in our heads, or in the

brain-core, through some kind of telepathy, that we

should crash the ship onto the surface? It is possible,

isn’t it?”

Not bloody likely, Queequeg thought. “So, why did it

let us go?”

The Commander seemed especially proud as he

relayed his explanation. “When Redfire addressed the

‘Little Green Men,’ I had Specialist American re-transmit

his speech across the same EM spectrum exhibited by

the planet’s magnetic field. Perhaps Mil er’s threats had

some effect. Maybe it was his wil ingness to play along at

the end. In any case, we talked the planet out of

stranding us.”

He was almost giddy as he continued. “I have

ordered eight probes place in orbit to monitor the planet,

focusing on the magnetic fields. By the time the Phase

two ships arrive, they wil have col ected enough data to

prove my theory. If it turns out to be right, wel , just

imagine, a thinking planet. My God, it’s like a whole new

field of science --- geo-psychology, perhaps, and I wil

have been its founder.”

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“What about that box of litter you gave Redfire about

the rules of logic being different in this part of the

universe.”

“I always keep that theory around for circumstances

like this. It works more often than one would like to

admit.”

Queequeg pushed on. Although Keeler did not yet

realize it, Queequeg was playing with him like a doomed

mouse. “What about the Little Green Men?”

Keeler sniffed. “Sometimes humans are a little

unobservant, but to coexist with a species for three

thousand years, and not notice them, especial y a

species powerful enough to bring down this ship, seems

unlikely.”

“Let me show you something, Boss,” Queeuqeg

brought up three of the images captured from the

planet’s surface. The colonists when the landing party

first encountered them, the Wilson homestead, and the

Aves Quentin lying beached on the shoreline.

“What of it?”

“Look close,” Queequeg zoomed in on and enhanced

a spot in the trees behind the colonists who had met the

landing party. There was a shadowy circle that looked

like a face peaking out from behind the trunks of one of

the trees, wearing an expression of devilish amusement.

“And here…” Queequeg indicated a spot at the front

of Quentin’s fuselage. From the canopy of the command module, one could almost make it out two little faces

peering out from the inside.

Queequeg showed him another face in the shadows

behind the Wilson house.

Keeler squinted for a long time. “Za… there does

appear to be something here, but that could just be a

trick of light and shadow. You know, there is a

psychological tendency in humans toward

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anthropomorphism, a bias that makes us see a face in

the random arrangement of objects and features.”

“Boss, look at the moon.”

The image of the Wilson’s house had a clear view of

the moon through a break in the clouds overhead. Here,

the image of a face was even more pronounced, eyes

arched and squinted, and a mouth in a leering rictus of a

grin. Queequeg put the image of the moon, and the

images of the faces lurking in the other scenes side-by-

side.

The faces were the same.

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INDEPENDENCE

This story takes place between and Book 04: Winter

and Book 05:Aurora Approximately seven years into

the journey of Pegasus.

THE AVES PRUDENCE lifted from the skypad as gently as a whisper, and rose like a quail from the roof of the

hundred-story Tower of Government. The capital city of

Independence receded, an orderly patchwork of parks,

boulevards, and hundred-story towers thrust at the azure

sky from an island carved in the shape of a perfect circle,

connected to the mainland by sixteen magnificent

bridges. Its suburbs wrapped in a crescent around the

coastline; an urban shadow cast in architecture.

Its passengers spared the sprawling city of Presidio

Capitat one last look, before the ship shot into space at a

speed that put bul ets to shame. Her speed might have

given the impression she was glad to be rid of the place,

but it was only the speed she had been designed to fly.

"No one on that whole planet tried to kil us," Prime Commander Keeler sighed, wiping a tear from his cheek.

"Al being bless them al . Maybe, we've final y reached the Galaxy's better neighborhoods."

His Adjutant, Tactical Lieutenant David Alkema

slumped in the seat next to him. For him, Independence

had been a 27-day marathon. From the time Pegasus

had made orbit. he had to be the Captain’s constant

companion, reminding him of this official's name, that

official's title, and that other officials fetish for women

dressed like schoolboys. He appreciated finding the first

civilized world in Pegasus’s two years in space, but he

was looking forward to wel -earned time off.

Then, as was his wont, the commander turned

critical. "Was it just me, or did the people impress you as being a little bit too … ful of themselves?"

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"Sampling error," Alkema reminded him. "The people you met were leaders of their government and

economy."

"Za, that's probably it."

"One colony in seven surviving intact, " Alkema

shrugged. "Not bad, I suppose. Better than we had any

right to expect."

The Colonies of Earth, seeded during the Era of the

Galactic Commonwealth, had been on their own for over

a thousand years (varying depending on how long each

individual colony took to orbit its star); time enough to

evolve new unique civilizations, even ones

unrecognizable as human.

The first world they had visited had been invaded by

aliens, and was barely recognizable as human. The

second was rotting from its own decadence. The third

had been wiped out by a virulent plague. The fourth was

in the path of Conquest of an insatiable conquering race,

the Aurelians. The fifth had already been conquered by

them, as had the sixth.

Independence, however, was like a taste of home;

peaceful, advanced, prosperous, with art, religion, music,

shopping, and al the other amenities. Her seas, where

many of the crew had enjoyed planet leave, were deep

and clean and almost violet in color. Her mountains were

capped with snow as they should be, her flatlands

blooming with wildflowers, her cities rivaled those of the

home-worlds and were fil ed with friendly and interesting

people.

"Nobody tried to kil us," the commander repeated,

shaking his head. “Total y spoiled us for the next world,

probably.”

His Third-In-Command, a lean, red-haired, intense

officer named and titled Tactical Commander Philip J.

Redfire, leaned forward. "You didn’t find it a bit… dul ?"

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"Sometimes I prefer dul ," Keeler said. "When the alternative is desolation, destruction, and decay. We’ve

seen plenty enough of that."

Redfire shrugged. "Happy planets are al alike, but

every unhappy planet is unhappy in its own way."

"Very clever, you should write that down," Keeler

yawned.

"Retrofitting Pegasus with the Indie's anti-proton weaponry wil almost double our firepower," Redfire went on. Since encountering the ruthless Aurelians, and

having barely survived, Redfire had become nearly

obsessed with them. They had almost beaten Pegasus,

and he vowed that next time they met, the advantage

would be his.

"If we adapt the Indies’ fusion reactor design to

Pegasus, we can increase energy output by 25%,"

Alkema added. Independence had an impressive degree

of technological progress. "My guess is, they'll have the tachyon pulse antenna operational within four years,"

Alkema continued. "Once they are in contact with our

home worlds, they'll probably want to build their own

ships."

"Is that al you guys can talk about," said Specialist Kayliegh Driver, the pretty sister of Prudence's pilot and

one of Pegasus's scientists. She leaned over her seat.

"The park where we signed the treaty contained over 800

different plant species, at least half of which were non-

native and some of those were completely unknown to

us. We're dedicating a whole vivarium to studying the

plant life from Independence."

"The blood replication technology we shared with the

Independents wil surely save many lives," Medical

Technician Bihari put in. Bihari was a thin and elegant

woman from Republic.

The men acknowledged them politely, then went

back to discussing how Independence technology could

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increase the acceleration of Pegasus’s Aves and

defensive missiles.

---

Matthew Driver turned slightly to his left, where a

smal band of screens had suddenly gone blank. He

reached over to touch them, but they ignored his

activation gesture.

"This is odd," he would have said, if he had been the kind to talk to himself. Instead, he decided to note in his

log that at 1444 Mission Time, the bank of

communications interlinks between his ship and Pegasus

had failed.

" Pegasus Flight Command, this is the Aves

Prudence, returning from the planet Independence with

seven souls on board. Please respond."

No one answered him. The bank of communication

interlinks remained silent. He activated a diagnostic

system to check his communications systems. It ran from

beginning to end, found no hardware failures, and no

operating failures. Abruptly, Pegasus had seemingly

ceased to communicate.

He repeated the hail, then asked for live telemetry on

Pegasus. Prudence attempted to connect with an

automated system and failed, and substituted its own

sensor scan. He saw Pegasus, long and magnificent, a

spaceborne clipper ship, hanging silent.

This was definitely weird.

Not that he would have made the observation out

loud.

---

Shayne American, one of Pegasus’s best junior

officers, answered the cal from the Command Module.

"Specialist American, this is Flight Captain Driver. My

telemetry displays and com-links seem to have locked.

Can you attempt to contact Pegasus."

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American nodded. "Affirmative, Captain Driver. I wil

attempt to raise Pegasus." She sighed a little as she activated the Comm COM. She supposed it was to her

credit that everybody expected her to work out system

problems, a testament to her skil . Other times, she

wished she could just say, "Can’t someone else do it?"

Share the credit, share the responsibility, share the

blame. "Aves Prudence hailing Pegasus Flight Control,

please acknowledge."

No one answered her.

She ran a diagnostic of Prudence’s COM system.

Perfectly functional. She repeated the message, and got

no response.

She leaned back in her chair, concentration etched

on her dark features. Complete loss of contact with the

base, and with the planet. Complete telemetry failure.

She ran through the standard procedures in under two

minutes, and then, came to the one that required a

complete systems scan of Pegasus. It came back that

none of Pegasus’s thousands of systems were

functioning. This was impossible. She had to check twice

to be sure, and while she was at it, she scanned

Pegasus, according to procedure.

"Commander Keeler, we have a situation," she said,

not turning around. They were across from her,

speculating as to why certain acolytes of the

Independent Neo-Iestan religion died their hair pink.

"What’s up?" Keeler asked.

"I’m reading no life signs on Pegasus," Shayne

American reported. "No energy readings. Nothing."

Redfire and Alkema examined the readings while

Keeler looked concerned and American quietly resented

them for not believing her the first time. Alkema ticked off

the results. "Energy output, zero. Life signs, zero.

System cognizance, zero." He translated for the

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commander. "It’s as though everybody on the ship left,

and the last one turned out the lights."

"Show me Pegasus." Keeler ordered. American

brought up a screen. Pegasus was 20,000 kilometers

ahead, brightly lit and proud against a background of

bright diamond stars on black velvet night. "The lights are on," he observed.

"But they shouldn’t be," Alkema said. “According to our readings, Pegasus isn’t putting out any energy of any

kind.”

"It could be a sensor failure on our ship," Redfire suggested.

"Negative, al of our systems are functioning

normal y," American answered.

"Try contacting the planet, use our designated

channel," Alkema suggested.

American stuck the communication link in her ear, for

no readily apparent reason. "Independence Space

Command, this is the Aves Prudence from the Pathfinder

Ship Pegasus. We have an on-board emergency,

requesting priority response."

No response came from the planet. "I am going to

switch to carrier wave," American told them. She

scowled, listening. "Do you hear that?"

"I don’t hear anything," Redfire told her.

"That’s what I mean. Electromagnetic frequencies

should be carrying static… normal background radiation.

None of it’s there. It’s like al the stars have gone out."

The Captain mused. "There is an ancient Earth

legend that the purpose of humanity is to write down the

nine bil ion names of God. Upon completion of this task

al the stars will go out one-by-one." He shrugged, and

swirled the drink in his glass. "Maybe someone should

have kept an eye on what al of those monks over in

Arcadia have been doing al these mil ennia."

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"The stars haven’t gone out," Alkema observed.

"At least there’s that." Keeler suggested they should migrate up to the Command Module, because that might

help somehow. They stood behind and observed

Matthew Driver’s piloting as he closed on Pegasus. Their

home ship loomed large in the space ahead, prow jutting

forward like a spearhead, spreading behind, vast

sailplanes angled outward like wings. The twin

Command Towers rose above at the back of the great

ship. It was beautiful, it was majestic, and it was utterly

stil .

"She looks perfect," Keeler said. "Absolutely

premium."

"She should be bouncing nine kinds of beacons on

us,” Redfire said.

Matthew swung Prudence around behind and plotted

a conventional landing path. "How are you going to get

us in?" Keeler asked.

Matthew scanned the backside of the ship. "The

Hatch Cover for Bay 27 is partial y open. I think I can get

us in through it."

Alkema looked at the hatch on the cockpit display. It

was, perhaps, one quarter of the way closed. It didn't

look like it would be a tight fit, but it stil made him

uneasy.

Matthew guided the ship with a deft hand. The

shadow of Pegasus’s huge command towers fel over

them as they passed over the markers, stil ed for once.

Gently, he brought the ship into the space between the

gigantic hatch and the deck. Beyond the aperture was

darkness.

The Aves moved in. The passageway to the hangar

was short. "Speed dampers are off-line," Matthew

confirmed. "Reversing thrusters. Reducing speed to 4

meters per second." Keeler and Alkema turned up, both

wondering how close the top of the passage was to the

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canopy, painful y aware of the two Shrieks rising up from

their wingtips. What would happen if their wings clipped

the top?

Matthew unerringly said the wrong thing. "You know,

there should real y be a simulator training exercise for

this."

The displays on the inside of the canopy gave the

only indication of their passing. The passengers waited,

almost holding their breath.

Suddenly, it dawned on Matthew why the Hatch

Cover for Bay 27 had been partly opened. The clean-cut

pilot who wouldn’t say ‘shit’ if he had a mouth ful of it

said, "Oh, shit!"

Prudence jerked violently upward, too fast for the

inertial systems to compensate. Keeler, Redfire, and

Alkema were knocked to the deck. Kayliegh Driver and

Shayne American, who were already in landing couches,

were shoved down.

The space between the top of the passage and the

Aves Amy was just barely enough for Prudence to pass

through. Bare mil imeters separated the two ships and

hardly more separated the tips of the Shrieks on

Prudence’s wings from scraping the top.

"What…?" Keeler began to say.

"Your booze ship landed ahead of us, and was stil in

the Passageway when we came in," Matthew explained.

"We almost col ided with it."

“Booze ship?” Keeler asked.

Alkema explained. “You souvenired so much booze

on Independence, we had to send it ahead on another

ship.”

Keeler patted him on the shoulder. "Wel done, pilot.

If we live through this, you can have an unlimited bar tab

at any establishment on the ship."

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"Thank you, sir. I don’t drink alcohol."

"I know."

Finally, after it seemed like it had been weeks since

any of them had dared draw breath, Prudence entered

the landing bay. Eight other Aves were parked there.

There was an open spot, and Matthew careful y brought

his ship into it.

---

And when they landed, they opened the hatch and

stepped down, one at a time, onto the metal deck of the

Hangar bay. A landing crew should have met them. Service

crews should have been checking the ships on the deck.

Goneril Lear should have been complaining to her pilot that

her tea was five degrees too hot. Instead, there was no one to be found, and no one who responded on the intra-ship COM

links.

"I guess it’s a little late for the crew to jump out and yel ‘Surprise,’" Keeler said.

"Look at that," said Shayne American. She pointed to an automech poised on the top of one of the parked

Aves. Its long metal arm was frozen in place as it was

extracting a sensor module from the reactor dome. It

looked like a statue.

"The people are gone and the machines don’t work,"

Keeler muttered. "It almost feels like my old house on a Sunday night."

Redfire removed from his pack a souvenir from

Independence, a round sphere of some rubbery, glowing,

but unidentified material known as a "Happy Fun Bal ."

The bal had a unique property in that it conserved al of

its kinetic energy. In short, once thrown, it could bounce

infinitely without losing speed. Redfire chucked the bal

as hard as he could into the depths of the landing bay.

The HFB bounced off a far wal then caromed off a

structural joist. It ricocheted off the deck, bounced,

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recoiled, caromed again, snapped back, deflected off the

wing of a parked Aves, sprung back, glanced off an

overhead lift, boomeranged, rebounded, and final y flew

back into Commander Redfire's outstretched hand.

"I think we can conclude that something strange is

going on." Redfire said, replacing the HFB in his pack.

Not only had the bal failed to hurt any of the technicians

that would normal y have been tending the landing bay, it

had failed to arouse the ship's internal sensors the way a

fast-moving projectile in a sensitive operational area

could be expected to. "Let's acknowledge the Borealan

herd-beast," Redfire said.

"What does that mean?" Shayne American asked.

"It's a Sapphirean expression for when people refuse

to acknowledge the obvious," Alkema explained, always

helpful. "Metaphorical y, it's as though we're al in a room with a big green hairy herd-beast, but no one wil talk

about it."

"I’d say he’s not only in the room," Redfire went on,

"but he’s also dropping a pile on the dinner table. Let’s face up. The ship is empty. Everybody is gone. We can

spend hours going through every section on 221 decks,

supposing that they're al hiding from us, or we can

acknowledge the obvious and go from there."

"Not just the ship," Matthew Driver reminded them.

"The planet, too."

"Exactly, it's as though the whole universe, minus the

six of us…"

"Just vanished," Kayliegh Morgan whispered.

"Either that, or Pegasus has been replaced with an

exact duplicate somehow," American suggested. In

context, it did not seem like an entirely crazy idea.

"Who would have done that?" Keeler put forth. "And, more importantly, why?"

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"The Aurelians might be able to pul off something

like this," Redfire said.

"Why would they want to?" Keeler persisted.

Alkema shrugged. "Just to play with us. Maybe get us

to reveal the secret to hyperspace navigation. It's the

only tactical advantage we have. They would do anything

to get it."

"This could be an il usion," Bihari suggested. "It could be al in our minds."

"There's an idea I hate," Keeler grumbled. "If it’s true, then we have no way of control ing it, or escaping it."

"We are overlooking the obvious," Redfire said.

"Which is what?"

"The Indies. We’re in orbit of their planet. Doesn’t it

make sense that whatever is happening is something

they’re doing to us?"

"But they seemed so nice," Keeler deadpanned.

"What if everything we have experienced since

arriving in this system has been an il usion," Alkema

wondered aloud.

"I think I know how to test that theory," Redfire said.

"Captain, I’d like to go to the inhabitation decks.

American, you can come with me."

"I would also like to go to the Inhabitation decks,"

said Dr. Bihari. "My child from EdenWorld, I have to see if he is…"

Redifre nodded. "Understood, perhaps you should

come too," He gestured at Kayliegh.

"Hey, why do you get al the women!" the commander

demanded.

"I’d rather stay here with Matthew," Kayliegh Driver protested.

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"Flight Captain Driver is going to the Bridge with me,"

Keeler said.

Redfire looked perplexed. "The Bridge? What is it?"

"It’s a big room where the command officers sit, but

that’s not important right now." Keeler shrugged. "If Pegasus had any inkling as to what happened, there

might be some clue in our Command Center. And I want

these two guys with me because, if there are hostile

aliens involved, there’s a two out of three chance one of

them will get shot first."

"Thanks, Commander," said Alkema. He could see it

al now. The doors to PC-1 slide open. The bridge is fil ed

with insectoids, buzzing around with fangs and tentacles,

Keeler shouting, " Commander? Who? Me? I’m just the

Kitchen Staff Supervisor."

"I’l go, too," said Matthew Driver, as if he had a choice.

---

The Inhabitation decks were ten decks up and many

sections forward of the Landing Bays. Even without

transport pods, it was not a difficult traverse.

Crew inhabitations on Pegasus were designed as

large, chunky, blocks of suites arranged beneath an

artificial sky and divided by landscaped walkways of

flowers, grass, and trees. It was designed to ease

homesickness, as the ship’s journey was expected to be

multigenerational. An automech was stil ed in one of the

hedgerows, water arcing from his midsection, the

droplets frozen in mid-air. They stopped long enough to

stare at it with ‘isn’t that peculiar’ expressions, then

proceeded.

"So, why the living quarters?" American asked.

"Shouldn’t we check out the Engineering Areas, or the

Telemetry Labs?"

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"Those are only useful if what we’re experiencing is…

for lack of a better word … real," Redfire explained. "If this is al an il usion, it can only recreate what's in our

minds to begin with, right?"

"That makes sense," American conceded.

Redfire came to one of the inhabitation blocks, led

them up to the second level. “These are my quarters.

Neither of you have ever been in them. When I force the

hatch. You go in and tel me exactly what you see.”

He pressed against the hatchway until it final y gave

way. Then he ducked to the side before he could look.

Beyond the hatch was a bare room. The wal s were plain

and white. The single piece of furniture was a bed,

covered with simple gray blankets.

"It must be an il usion!" Kayliegh Driver exclaimed.

"They had no idea what would be behind these doors, so

it's just a generic environment."

"Actual y, that’s exactly how they're supposed to

look," Redfire said. The women regarded him skeptical y.

He explained. "I find furnishings and decorations

distracting. This way, I get out more often. But you didn’t

know what they looked like until you opened the door.

They got it right. Let’s try another."

They agreed that they were not, and Redfire led them

down the corridor. He stopped before another hatch.

"These quarters belong to Tactical Specialist Ayliss

Mandelbrot. I have never seen the inside."

"So, how will you know if they're right?" American

asked.

"I won't. That's not what I am looking for," Redfire said. He pressed on the hatch until it gave, opening onto

Mandelbrot’s living space. This main room contained a

pair of Odyssey Project-issued couches (in an un-

imaginative teal and gray check pattern), an interactive

self-entertainment suite, and the other basics.

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Redfire headed toward the larger of the two couches.

When he reached it, he fel to his knees and plunged his

hand behind the cushions, rummaging. After a few

moments of this, he pul ed out some loose coinage and a

pair of writing styluses. He examined the coins.

"Boadicéan cameos," he said. "Mandelbrot did take some shore leave on Boadicéa, so this comes as no

surprise." He looked at the grit and dust on his

fingernails. "If this is an il usion, it is a very detailed one."

"What are you looking for?" American asked again.

"I don’t know," he answered, already moving toward

the kitchen. He opened her food storage unit and

surveyed its contents. "A-ha!"

"What is it?"

He pul ed out a container of raw meat, rice, and

seaweed and showed it to the women. "Carpentarian

sushi," he explained.

"No thanks, I’m not hungry," said American.

" Look at the date on this container. Mission date

161. This food is over a year and a half old."

"So, it’s not so fresh? What?"

"Radiation treatment and cold storage keeps our food

fresh long after it’s no longer safe to eat, but that’s not

important right now. The thing is, she got this take-out,

tried it, didn’t like it. Makes sense, but it’s not something I would have expected. However, she never got around to

recycling it either, which I also would not have expected,

but it makes sense. You see?"

"Nay, I don’t," American seemed irritated. Redfire

looked to Kayliegh Driver and saw that he would be

getting no help there.

He explained. "If this were an il usion, whoever was

creating would not have been able to produce such

unexpected, but logical, details of people with whom we

have only a passing acquaintance. If it were al in our

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minds, the details could only be drawn out of what we

already knew. Knowing nothing about Specialist

Mandelbrot’s quarters, I would have expected only to find

fresh food in her storage unit. Only reality could contain

these unexpected, but logical, details. Whatever we’re

experiencing must be real."

The women accepted this. It was as plausible as

anything on a big empty ship, frozen in time. "So now

what?"

"We catch up with the Commander," Mil er told them.

"And figure out how to deal with this not being al in our minds."

---

On the Main Bridge, or PC-1 as some stil insisted on

cal ing it, Keeler, Driver, and Alkema surveyed two levels

of empty command stations and frozen displays. The

Captain found a comfortable chair at the Tactical Station

and slumped in it. PC-1 was a hundred and twenty-two

decks up from the Landing Bay, and without transport

pods, it had been a long climb.

"An empty ship," the Captain lamented. "No one to hear my witty bon mots, my cutting ripostes, my stories

that go nowhere and serve no purpose."

Alkema passed his hand through the data displays,

which was no surprise because they were holographic

and hung in the air around every station. He passed by

one of the planet monitoring stations. A great black and

purple storm was moving over the highland plains. The

view showed frozen lightning flashing in the cloud-tops.

Something caught his eye. He checked first one, then

al of the displays in his vicinity. "Captain, I think I’ve found something. Al of these displays have the same

Mission Time readout. 1444.32."

"That must mean something," Keeler said.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t have pointed it out to me.

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"That’s the same time Flight Captain Driver said his

COM links went down. Isn’t that right?"

Driver was standing in the forebridge staring into the

corner. He didn’t respond.

Keeler prompted, "Isn’t that right? Your comm links

went off-line at 1444.32 Mission Time… Flight Captain…

Matthew… Honey?"

Matthew squinted and cocked his head. "I can see

her."

"See who?" Keeler asked.

"Eliza… she’s right here on the bridge… I can see

her. She’s right there at the Command Station…"

He pointed toward the Command Station, but no one

was there. It was as empty and deserted as the rest of

the command deck.

"There’s no one there, Captain," Alkema said.

"Can’t you see her?" Driver asked, moving a few

steps nearer to the Command Station.

"I don’t see anyone." He raised his Tracker. "Look, Matthew, besides us, there’s not a single life form on this

ship. Not even the animals in the Zoological Vivaria."

"Nay, she is here." Matthew edged a few steps closer to the spot, like a cat stalking a skittish and frightened

prey. "She is here. I can see her."

Alkema and Keeler looked at each other, then back

to Driver. The pilot was known for being rational, calm,

and steady as rock encased in concrete and then

anchored into deep bedrock. No one on the ship was

more firmly in command of his faculties than Matthew

Driver. If he was losing them…

"Okay, Matthew," Alkema said calmly. "Tel us exactly what you see."

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Matthew continued staring, but blinking and squinting

al the while. "It’s hard to focus. It’s like something you catch in the corner of your eye, but when you turn to see

it, nothing is there. If I look away, I can almost see her.

She’s… she’s… standing at the Command Station, like

she just stood up. She’s turning toward the Flight

Communications."

"What does she look like?" Alkema continued.

"I see her shape… it’s al faded and flickering, almost

like an after-image. She’s right here." Matthew was now

standing just in front of the Command Station, just ahead

of Alkema, outlining a shape with his out-stretched

hands. Alkema pointed his tracker at the space Driver

indicated.

There’s nothing there according to the Tracker, he

thought. So, why is every hair on the back of my neck

standing up? He stared hard into the empty space, then

tried squinting and looking from the corner of his eye, as

Matthew was doing. He stil saw nothing.

Driver began to extend his hand. "I think… I can

touch her."

For no reason he could explain, Alkema cried out.

"Matthew, don’t… I don’t think that’s a very good…"

"A-a-a-a-a-r-r-r-h…" Matthew began to cry out, then, in a split second, like a flash of lightning, he had

vanished.

"… idea," said Alkema in the silence that fol owed.

---

Hours later, they gathered once again in the Landing

Bay. Kayliegh did not take the news of her brother’s

disappearance wel . Bihari tried to comfort her, while

American and the men worked out what they had

learned, which was not very much. The ship was devoid

of life. It was not an il usion. And everything had stopped

at exactly the same moment.

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Redfire announced his theory. “Somehow, time itself

has stopped."

"That does not explain where my brother went,"

Kayliegh Driver put in tearful y.

"It explains everything else, and that’s what we have

to work with," Keeler said.

"Pegasus's power and life support systems are time-

dependent," American argued. "Quantum power has to

radiate, water and air have to flow through conduits."

"Gravity," Keeler added. "If time had stopped would we stil have gravity?"

"Of course we would," American huffed. "Artificial gravity exists independent of time. It has to or it doesn’t

work."

"Za, za, of course," Keeler muttered. It was a good thing he knew how to command, he thought, because he

knew so dambed little about how things actual y worked

on this ship.

Alkema wondered aloud. "In any case, water, power,

and air are not flowing on the ship, but our bodily

functions have not ceased."

"Please don’t mention bodily functions again," said the Captain.

Alkema continued. "Obviously, quantum and atomic-

level motions have not ceased, otherwise everything

would fal apart, but time itself has otherwise ceased

moving forward."

"Who has the power to stop time?" American asked.

"Tarmigans," said Bihari.

"Pah, Tarmigans!" Keeler said. He stil did not believe in Tarmigans, supposedly an ancient race of immense

power many held responsible for the destruction of the

Old Commonwealth.

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"How would you explain this, commander?" Redfire

said.

"There is an Old Earth Proverb (OEP) that states that

once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever

remains, however unlikely, is the explanation. Which

would be great, except that every explanation I can come

up with is equal y impossible."

American had a suggestion. "Maybe some scientist

on the planet was doing a time experiment that went

wrong."

"The problem with that theory," Redfire explained. "Is that if it is true, we are quite thoroughly boned."

"What do you mean? Al we have to do is find his

laboratory."

Redfire shook his head. "Al evidence is that

whatever we are experiencing is a universal

phenomenon. If it is a mistake, then the scientist could

be on another planet thousands or mil ions, or even

bil ions of light years from here. We would never find him,

even if we could get the ship moving, which I am thinking

we can’t."

"Maybe, we’re al dead," said Kayliegh Driver.

"Maybe the ship exploded, and time stopped, and we’re

al in a kind of Purgatory, awaiting Judgment. My brother

was a good man, so he’s gone to the Eternal, but the rest

of us are just waiting…"

"Waiting for what?" Redfire demanded.

Kayliegh fretted. "I don’t know. Maybe… maybe we

should al confess our sins to each other."

Keeler spoke first. "Pass."

Redfire fol owed. "Pass."

American, "Pass."

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence,

and they were al afraid Kayliegh was going to start

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confessing her sins. Alkema felt like it was his job to

make that never happen, "So, getting back to this

whole… out of time theory."

Redfire picked it up, "There is at least one theory out

there that states that time is an il usion and the universe

is static. However, there are an infinite number of

universes, each one representing one probabilistic

course. We don't move in time within one universe, but

we move continuously from one universe into the next

one depending on random probability. Our constant

passage from one frame of reference to the next creates

the il usion of the passage of time."

Alkema picked it up. "If that is the case, then, we

have somehow become locked into a single frame of

reference, like a stil picture. We’re not moving forward

any more."

"Sounds good to me," Keeler said. "Actual y, it sounds completely demented, but I’l take your word that

that’s where we are. I’m no expert in temporal

mechanics, but I have seen a lot of space dramas. They

seem to suggest the only way to get out of a situation like

this is to set off a big explosion with the crew having an

only marginal chance of success or survival. Is this

right?" He turned to Redfire, who usual y liked big

explosions.

Redfire was shaking his head. "First of al , any

explosion we could set off, even with a Nemesis

warhead, would be too localized to do any good. Second,

I don’t see how an explosion in three-dimensional space

should have any effect on four-dimensional time. Third,

given that every reaction on the ship has stopped, how

could we even set off a Nemesis warhead."

Keeler then looked to Alkema, expecting him to

devise bril iant solutions to each of Redfire’s

reservations. Instead, Alkema said, "Agreed, but I think the solution is simpler than that."

"Oh, even better," Keeler said.

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"If we’re stuck in time, maybe the trick is to move in

space."

Keeler had to agree. "You’re right, that is simple."

Alkema explained. "If we have stopped moving

forward in time, it’s possibly because we ran into

something, we got stuck, we just didn’t realize it. It might

even be something physical, or quasi-physical, in the

space-time continuum…"

Keeler interrupted. "Son, as a general rule, anything

involving the words ‘quasi,’ or ‘space-time continuum,’

can not be cal ed simple."

Alkema simplified it. "If Prudence could go back to

wherever it was we got stuck, maybe we can unstick

ourselves."

"Without Matthew?" Kayliegh said, wet-eyed.

"She’s right," Keeler nodded grimly. "Who’s gonna fly the ship?" He turned to Alkema and Redfire. "I am

guessing that, even though neither one of you is flight

certified, you both know how to pilot an Aves."

"Za," Redfire said, grinning. "But I don’t think either one of us can back Prudence out of the back of the

Landing Bay without col iding with Commander Lear’s

ship, or the wal ."

"We don’t have to," Alkema told him. "Prudence’s mission logs wil contain her precise course from the

planet to the ship. We tel her to reverse, her shipboard

AI NAV System wil fol ow it exactly."

Keeler grunted. It was beginning to sound too easy.

This worried the hel the out of him.

---

They returned to Prudence and sealed the hatch. For

this trip, they al wanted to be in the command module,

as if al being together, and al being in the control area

of the ship brought them comfort.

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Redfire sat in the pilot’s seat. "You’ll need an

interface."

Keeler looked horrified. "You mean one of those

things pilots grow on their faces that looks like high-tech

acne?"

Redfire drew his fingertips across his chin and jaw.

Black, gray, and blue chips and ridges appeared as the

molecular knitters produced the interface. "I’m

connected. Prudence, this is Tactical Commander Philip

John Mil er Redfire. Command code, burn-fire-fire-burn-

six-six-one."

Command input acknowledged, the ship replied.

Where is Flight Captain Driver?

"Damn good question," Mil er answered. "Plot reverse core to last point of departure on the planet

Independence. Precision: absolute."

Accessing navigational data and recomputing.

Course laid in.

"Execute!" Redfire ordered. The ship lifted from the deck and began backing toward the landing tunnel. It

dodged Exec. Commander Lear’s ship with the same

bone-jarring abruptness as before. Once in space

though, it turned around, and flew forward back toward

the blue-violet sphere of Independence.

"If my calculations are correct," Alkema informed his captain a bit later, "we will intersect the exact place we crossed at 1444.32 mission time in eight minutes."

"Should I ask why you seem concerned, lieutenant,"

the commander replied, "or is it only going to trouble my mind about things I have no control over."

"Without Flight Captain Driver, the ship’s mass is off

by about 70 kilograms," Alkema answered. "I don’t think it wil make any difference, but."

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Keeler stared through the canopy. The minutes

passed. "I keep expecting to see some sort of glowing

mass of energy, a halo or something," he told Alkema.

"We didn’t see anything the first time," Alkema told him. "I don’t know why we would see anything now."

"Za," Keeler conceded.

"What if this doesn’t work?" Kayliegh Driver

whispered.

"If it doesn’t work, we continue on course back to

Independence. We’l find a reasonably pleasant place to

settle down, and spend the rest of our lives trying not to

go mad." Keeler sighed. "Apart from the bit about time standing stil , that’s not too far from my retirement plan."

The ship moved on in silence. Keeler worked out in

his head. Three men and three women. Three Adams

and Three Eve’s in a timeless Eden. Al the men from

Sapphire, al the women from Republic. Who would hook

up with whom?

Dirty old man, he scolded himself.

In the meantime, they would live on a world without

motion, where the waves in the seas stood stil , where

trees bent to the wind never to rise again, where rain

paused stil in the sky. He wondered how long they could

remain in place before al the air, food, and water in a

given area were consumed. Would they have to move

constantly, nomads adrift on an immobile world?

Or, maybe at some point in the future, time would

snap back to normal. He would find himself aged twenty,

forty, sixty years in the space of seconds. Would he even

survive the shock?

"We should intersect our 1444 coordinates in the next

ten seconds," he heard Alkema say. He started to count

down but Keeler made him stop.

And then nothing happened.

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Except for everything changing.

---

"… establish diplomatic relations, and eventual y

secure an al iance," Goneril Lear was saying. "But, the question remains, bilateral, or tri-lateral?"

She looked at him, as though expecting an answer.

He looked back at her, as though expecting some

surprise at his sudden materialization on the Primary

Command Deck.

"Do you have any opinion on this at al ?" Lear

persisted.

“Hey! I just teleported here from another time

dimension. It’s impressive!” Keeler looked around at

Command Deck. "Where’s Lt. Alkema?"

"In his quarters presumably," Lear answered, as

though this were the only place she approved of him

being.

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

"You returned to the Primary Command Deck forty-

seven minutes ago. You participated in a final exchange

of farewel s with the Chief Executor of Independence,

during which you said that you hoped additional contact

between our people would lead to better fashion sense

because his suit was ‘ugly as a gongo’s rear end,’ and

tried to get him to join you in a chorus of your Alma

Mater’s drinking song…"

That certain sounds like something I’d do, Keeler

thought.

"… after which we broke orbit and are now

accelerating out of the system. I was trying to engage

you in a discussion about whether our worlds should

have separate treaties with Independence, or whether

the many advantages of a united approach should

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overrule our sovereign concerns. You pretended to

listen, but you also made noises that showed your mind

was elsewhere."

"It sure was," Keeler muttered. He shook his head,

feeling disoriented. Not liking waking from a dream, but

more like finding himself unsure whether he was

dreaming or not, and trying to wake up. "Okay, I’m just

going to ask… did I not suddenly just appear on the

Bridge just now?"

The two officers at the Helm and Navigation stations

turned around and gave him odd looks.

"Do you think you just appeared on the Primary

Command Deck?" Lear asked, unable to hide the faint

hope that her Captain final y was losing it, and she could

claim the command she openly coveted.

Keeler’s features tightened as he tried to concentrate.

"I was… I was on a ship… an Aves… coming back here

from Independence…"

"We departed the planet almost sixteen hours ago.

My ship led yours in. You went back to your quarters,

and I had a few words with Fight Captain Wang about

upgrading the tea service in his main deck."

"How long after your ship landed did mine land…

Never mind! Don’t answer that! Get me Commander

Redfire. Now!"

Oh, wait, he thought. That’s something I can do

myself. "Redfire, this is the Commander."

Redfire’s face appeared, bearing a look of confusion

Keeler was sure he shared. "Redfire…. Here?"

"Phil… this is very important. Your Captain is

questioning his sanity and needs an answer to the

fol owing question: Do you, or do you not, remembering

being with me on a big empty ship with no people, and

time had stopped, and we were trapped in a single frame

of reference, and we had to travel in space back to the

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point where time had diverged? Do you remember any of

that?"

"Al of it, Captain," Redfire said. "I seem to be in the observation deck with my boys, watching out for the

seventh planet because it has a rare, bisecting ring

system and we’re going to pass by it in a few minutes,

but my last prior memory is being on an Aves with you."

The Aves.

---

Kayliegh Driver sat bolt upright in her sleeper, her

heart pounding, breath coming hard as though

awakening from a nightmare. A second ago she had

been on Prudence. How did she come to be here? Had

she ever real y been there?

"Are you al right?" she heard a sleepy voice asked.

Her husband looked at her through bleary eyes.

"Honey, where have I been… today I mean?"

Morgan rol ed over, muttering, "After you returned

from the planet, we had dinner, went for a walk in the

Vivarium, made love, and went to bed."

She didn’t remember any of it.

When she was sure that Morgan was sleeping again,

she rose, slipped into off-duty clothes, and walked from

the chamber.

It was possible that when they had passed through

that break in time, they had simply caught up with

themselves. They had exited one frame, and fast

forwarded to their normal lives.

If that was the case, who had been on Pegasus, …

this Pegasus! … while she was stuck in time. Who had

made love to her husband? Had something unreal, a

figment of time, detached itself from her, and gone on

with her life, then vanished when she reappeared? If not,

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it was her simultaneously existing in both places, what

had happened to sixteen hours of memories?

She caught a car on the Intraship Tubeway and

located her brother in the Amenities Nexus, having

dinner with Eliza Jane Change. He was smiling, as

though nothing had happened. When he saw her come

into the food court, he smiled and waved her to their

table, offering her a seat. "Good morning," he greeted her. "Aren’t you usual y asleep at this hour?"

She stared at him for a second, unable for a moment

to believe he was her brother, thinking he was some kind

of replicant. Or was she the replicant?

"Are you al right?" he asked. "Should I send for some herbal tea."

She shook her head, then changed her mind.

"Please, I would like some tea, thank you."

Matthew sent for tea. Kayliegh stared into space.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

"Don’t you remember?" she asked him. "We were

trapped in time?"

"Trapped in time?"

"On Prudence. We were coming back from

Independence, and we got trapped in time, don’t you

remember?"

"When?"

"Today. Yesterday. I’m not sure."

Matthew looked at his sister strangely. "We returned

to the ship, perfectly normal flight."

Her tea came. She drank it. She babbled. "You don’t

remember flying back to the ship, and everyone being

gone? You went to Primary Command with the

commander. You said you saw Lt. Change, and when

you touched her, you vanished, too."

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"Nay, I returned to the ship. I did a post-flight check

and went back to my quarters." He paused. "You know, I did have a dream about Prudence, that I lost contact with

Pegasus and…" He squinted, as though trying to focus

on an elusive thought hiding in his mind. "I did go to the Primary Command and saw Eliza, and she touched me

and I woke up." He shook his head. "That was just a dream… I woke up in my…" he paused, turned to Eliza.

"I dreamed it, didn’t I?"

"Nay," Kayliegh insisted. "Nay, Matthew… It was real, it happened."

"Could we have had the same dream?" he asked.

They were twins. It had happened before.

"Sixteen hours of time are missing!" Kayliegh

insisted. "It was not a dream. We were frozen in time, or time stopped, or … something happened with time."

Eliza Jane Change shrugged. "Perhaps time is just a

dream in the mind of the universe."

Matthew chewed on this for a moment. "That doesn’t

make any sense."

Eliza Jane reached across the table and took her

hand. "Darling, if you ever find anything in this universe that makes complete sense, let me know. I’ve been

looking for it my entire life."

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COTOPAXI

This story takes place between WA Books 09 and 10

and addresses the mystery of the thing that

happened in the Cotopaxi system that none of the

crew is willing to talk about.

IT WAS A SIX-HOUR JOURNEY BY AVES SHUTTLE from

the pathfinder ship Pegasus to the giant black pyramid they had discovered in the dust cloud of an old red dwarf

star. Commander Keeler had a complaint about this.

“Why did we have to park so far from the damned thing?”

Warmaster General Kitaen, his Chief Tactical Officer

– a frightening man with a shaved head dressed in a

black leather combat jacket, battle kilt, and war paint –

answered. “If that ship were to launch an attack,

Pegasus is capable of neither fighting nor running. It was

prudent to keep our distance.”

Pegasus had been limping across the Orion

Quadrant ever since its near-destruction in the

Gethsemane system, where it battled with what Keeler

cal ed “demonic space-squids from another dimension.”

Great chunks of the hul were blasted away, only half the

ship had functional power nodes, and there was the

matter of the huge through-and-through in its port

wingblade. One of its main hyperdrive engines was

destroyed and the other disabled. The ship was running

on the two auxiliaries and required a month to ramp up to

transluminal speeds.

“Yeah, wel …” Keeler took a swig of liquid patience

from his flask and turned to Lt. Commander Alkema,

“You said it was safe.”

“I said the android probes found nothing harmful on

the pyramid ship,” Alkema clarified (again). In Keeler’s

mind, every old ship or space station contained face-

huggers or head-biters or some other ghastly thing.

“We’re just being cautious.”

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Keeler grunted and took another swig.

“It’s worth the risk,” Alkema went on. “That ship could

have the parts and supplies we need to restore power

systems, repair the hul , maybe even get back some of

our propulsion.” He could have listed a hundred different

things that needed to be fixed off the top of his head.

“The lead Aves contains a squad of my best

warfighters,” Kitaen reassured Keeler. “They wil

determine if it is safe for us to land… or make it safe for

us to land.”

When the warfighters signaled it was safe, the

remaining three Aves flew through the huge triangular

portal on the side of the pyramid and into the bay. When

Keeler and the others disembarked, they found the

interior of the ship was as black as its exterior. From the

ceiling of the landing bay, pointy black ships shaped like

birds hung on launch racks, casting predatory shadows

on the deck.

Kitaen stared up at them. “Fighting ships,” he

deduced. He ordered some of his warfighters to give

them a closer inspection. He ordered another squad to

examine the statues in the niches of the landing bay,

concerned they might be war machines of some kind.

Kitaen’s squads were a mix of newer recruits and

toughened veterans who had fought demonoid aliens in

the Gethsemane system, the Solarite pirates of Hel fire,

the aliens in the Crucible system who never identified

themselves, and other hostiles the ship had encountered

in its long journey from the Perseus Quadrant on the

other side of the galaxy.

Alkema checked his COM Link. “No link to Pegasus.

Just like the androids reported.”

Keeler was concerned. “Isn’t that bad?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it; not even

neutrino pulses make it through the hul material.” A tal

blond woman with an amazing body answered him. “The

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technology on this ship doesn’t look anything like the

technology we’ve found on the Commonwealth

StarLocks. “Probably because it’s about 1,000 years

older, right Commander?”

“Probably, and you are?” Keeler asked, since

apparently no one was going to introduce her.

She offered her hand, “Lt. Scientist Hardcandy

Banks. We’ve met several times before and my eyes are

stil up here, Commander.”

“Good,” Keeler replied, not looking up. “How do you

know how old this ship is?”

“Radiation absorption on the hul ,” she fol owed with

an explanation of stel ar radiance and material

absorption rates that utterly lost him. He understood the

part where she got to: “My guess is this vessel is nearly

four thousand years old.”

“Four thousand years,” Keeler muttered. “Four

thousand years ago was the time of the Third and Fourth

Crusades… the War of the Transhumans.”

“Transhumans?” Alkema asked, trying to insert

himself in the discussion. “Were those the ones who had

themselves genetical y altered so they had no hair or

genitals.”

“Those were the Strange.” Keeler’s knowledge of the

Ancient Commonwealth was encyclopedic. “They died

out for rather obvious reasons. Transhumans came

along later. They left their human forms for

bioengineered artificial bodies; extremely intel igent and

practical y immortal, kil ed off a few bil ion normal

humans before they were stopped.” He looked around.

“They had a fetish for gaudy, tacky interiors. This might

be one of their ships.”

A younger man interrupted. “I don’t think this is a

ship, at al .” The man was slender, with longish hair, a

pair of external SPEX across his eyes. “If I am reading

these symbols right… it may be more like a tomb.”

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“And you are?” Keeler asked, a bit peeved that

Alkema was skimping on the introductions.

“Specialist Jackson Levant, from the Archaeological

Section, I’m an expert in pyramid-shaped structures.”

Keeler squinted at him. “That’s an oddly specific

specialization.”

“Wel , with one exception, every world we have

encountered has had pyramid-based architecture; they

often have a symbolic or ceremonial function; it’s a

common shape for temples and tombs, for example.”

“Oh,” said Keeler, and then much more emphatical y,

“Oh!” To historians, finding a tomb was way better than

finding a spaceship. It was the difference between finding

unexpected money in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t

worn in a couple of years and finding a Panrovian

swimsuit model in your kitchen making you a sandwich.

“A tomb, you say.” History showed there was often real y

cool stuff in tombs; the more elaborate the tomb, the

cooler the stuff. A pyramid-shaped black spaceship eight

miles on a side just had to have cool stuff.

Levant led them to one of the wal s, which was

covered with glowing glyphs from an Ancient

Commonwealth language, “This symbol is commonly

associated with some of the more elaborate tombs of the

Ancients. It’s sort of a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.”

Keeler knew the ancient symbol wel . “Right, the red

circle with a slash through it.”

“This next symbol usual y indicates the status of the

interred. Whoever is in this tomb is a ‘Ruler over many

worlds,’ ‘Ruler over al the stars,’ something like that. And here is a name… ‘Cotopaxi.’ It’s either the name of the

ship, or the person interred. It’s hard to tel in context.

Both, maybe.” His finger lingered over the next phrase.

“Now, this is strange.”

“Oh?” Keeler did not like to hear the words “this is

strange” while exploring ancient spaceships.

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“Wel , there were two symbols in the ancient

language for ‘emperor’ and ‘empress,’ depending on the

sex of the person interred. This symbol is like the two

combined.”

Keeler suggested. “Some Transhumans adopted the

characteristics of both sexes.”

“Maybe, but I could also be reading it wrong. I don’t

recognize most of these symbols, and my syntax is just a

guess.”

Alkema tried to refocus them on practical matters.

“We should have the one of the teams begin a

metal urgical analysis of the ship’s materials. Even if the

systems aren’t compatible, we might be able to re-

engineer their components into replacement parts for

Pegasus.”

Levant protested. “You want to take this ship apart?

That’s like tomb-robbing. Neg, I take that back, it literal y is tomb-robbing.”

“Didn’t anyone brief you on the mission objective?

We have over 10,000 people on Pegasus and barely

enough life support to keep them alive.” There was an

edge in Alkema’s voice that came from over a year spent

trying to rig workarounds and patches on shattered

systems and the tol it had taken on his health and his

marriage. “We need hul plating. We need power nodes.

We need capacitors for the weapons. We need graviton

generators for shields and propulsion.”

Levant seethed. “You can’t just go ripping up an

ancient artifact, it would be like tearing apart the Great

Kandoran Temple to fix your plumbing.”

“Speaking of plumbing,” Keeler interjected… “Is there

a hygiene chamber on this ship?”

Alkema tried to speak calmly. “I wouldn’t tear apart

this relic if we didn’t need it to survive. If it’s any

consolation, we’l only take what we need to fix Pegasus.

No more.”

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Levant did not seem consoled at al .

Banks set up a display showing what the androids

had mapped of the ship’s interior. “Two levels up from

here is a large central chamber.”

“The Annunication Chamber,” Levant interrupted.

“According to the translation of the associated symbol.”

Banks continued. “There is a lot of power going into

that chamber, so it probably performs a critical function.”

Alkema agreed, “We need to take a look at that

chamber, maybe the power systems can help restore

Pegasus. Lt. Scientist Banks could be useful figuring it out.”

Banks disagreed, “I think I should go here.” She

indicated a chamber immediately beneath the capstone.

“That could be a command center. From there, I should

be able to get to an analysis of the ship’s systems and

components pretty quickly.”

Levant wanted to explore the Annuciation Chamber.

“It may be the purpose of this entire structure.”

Banks disappointed him, “I could use Specialist

Levant’s alacrity with paleo-linguistics to help me figure

out the system interfaces. Just for a few hours until I

have an understanding of how this ship operates.”

Keeler poked at the command center on the

schematic. “It’s pretty far from the Aves; anyone who

goes up there isn’t going to make a quick getaway when

things go bad as they probably wil .”

Kitaen suggested, “We’l keep a squad of warfighters

here in the hangar bay. They can rescue anyone who

gets in trouble.”

Keeler nodded. “Alkema and I wil go check out the

main chamber.” He turned to the technical crew. “The

other rest of you guys… just start looking for things we

can use.”

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“Two warfighters wil accompany you, Commander.

For Banks and Levant…” Kitaen put his fingers in his

mouth and whistled. A pair of shiny metal war machines

shaped like dogs, but tal er than people, ran over from

within one of the Aves. “These Trauma Hounds wil

protect you, in case there is any trouble.”

Levant looked intimidated by the giant mechanical

beasts. Banks simply patter one of them on the snout. “I

feel safer already. Let’s go.”

One of the hounds, Scrapper, growled. “Let me at

‘em! Let me at ‘em!”

Levant did not understand, “Let you at whom?”

The other trauma hound, Tralfaz, begged their

pardon “Don’t mind the boy, he’s trying to start a catch-

phrase.”

---

Alkema and Keeler made their way to the center of

the ship, accompanied by a pair of warfighters. Along the

connecting passages were large round hatches plated in

gold leading into the ship’s internal chambers, each one

with patterns of sigils and symbols around its

circumference. The hatches opened with a kind of swirl.

The large chamber they had just entered had gold

wal s twice as tal as they were, with engravings and

more patterns of more sigils that glowed and moved as

they passed.

Keeler didn’t care for it. “A Panrovian Flesh Merchant

would say this décor is a little over the top.” He added, “I

wasn’t jokering when I said I need to use a hygiene

chamber.”

“Why is it no matter what planet or ancient spaceship

we explore, you always need to find a hygiene

chamber?”

Do you think that I enjoy the increasingly annoying

amount of maintenance this body requires as it ages?”

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Alkema suggested, “You could go back to the

shuttle.”

“It’s too far away. Anyway, I like using ancient

hygiene chambers. At every era of human civilization, al

men, great and smal , needed to piss. I like the thought

of dropping trou where centuries ago, my pioneering

ancestors were doing the same. It makes me feel a

sense of continuity with humanity’s past.”

One of the warfighters spoke up: “I could also use a

hygiene chamber.”

Alkema checked the schematic on his datapad.

“There’s a chamber up ahead that’s linked into the ship’s

water distribution network. It could be a hygiene

chamber.”

Keeler: “It’s going to be.”

He left his party outside, of course. Keeler had to

activate his headlamp to assess the dark chamber. In the

shadows, he could make out a device in it that looked

something like a metal saddle with a hole in the center.

An elaborate pair of what looked like padded metal

armrests were on the sides; but they looked rather higher

than arm level. Maybe whoever they had been built for

had been a lot tal er.

It looked like no toilet he had ever seen before, but it

fit right in with the tacky extravagance of the rest of the

ship. Keeler realized he would be unable to straddle the

saddle effectively unless he removed his pants

completely. “Wel , this is a hel of a thing,” he said out

loud as he dropped his trousers and mounted the device.

Once atop, he was almost immediately able to clear his

business. He rested his arms on what he thought were

the armrests. Almost incidental y, restraints snapped into

place.

Keeler: “Wel , that probably isn’t good.”

He was beginning to think the device wasn’t actual y

a euphemism. Then, suddenly his head-light went out

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and he thought this might be a good time to cry out for

help, even though rescue by warfighters while he was

pantsless and strapped to some kind of weird

Commonwealth torture toilet would be embarrassing.

But as he opened his mouth he suddenly found

himself gagged. Some kind of armature had dropped and

stuffed a pad into his mouth. He tried to scream, but

could not make a sound against the gag. It was like one

of those nightmares where you try to scream and nothing

comes out.

And then, he had the distinct sensation of an electric,

cybernetic worm inserting itself into the exposed orifice

he had just evacuated. There was an instant of sharp

stabbing pain, and then a feeling of warmth and

loveliness came over him; like everything was going to

be okay… forever

---

Outside the hygiene chamber, Alkema was getting

worried about how long his commander had been in

there. He rapped on the wal next to the entrance, but

just then, Keeler reappeared.

“Are you al right, Commander? You were in there a

long time?”

Keeler looked at him, a weird smile on his face. “I’m

just great, Davey. Never better. I feel super great.”

Alkema asked the obvious question, “Where are your

pants, commander?”

Keeler rol ed his eyes: “What, those old things? So-o-

o-o-o-o confining.”

Alkema was about to ask again if he was al right (he

already knew the answer and was setting his gauntlet to

stun) but Keeler pressed a finger to his lips. “Does

anyone else need to use the hygiene chamber? It’s a

little tricky to get started, but once you get going it’s

just… lovely.”

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Alkema gently moved the commander’s finger side:

“Commander, you do not seem like your normal self.” In

the background, a pantless and blissful Warfighter was

emerging from the other chamber.

Keeler hooked Alkema’s arm and pul ed him closer,

looking him in the eyes. ““I’m fine, Davey, but I think you

real y need to use the euphemism. Right now.”

There was a brief purple flash in the commander’s

eyes and suddenly, he leaned in and gave Alkema a ful

open mouth kiss. Alkema recoiled and pul ed away, but

before he could raise his arm to fire, he realized he did

need to use the euphemism. In fact, he had lost al wil to

do anything other than use the euphemism.

Meanwhile, the pantsless Warfighter addressed the

other warfighter. “You should check it out the hygiene

chamber, too.”

His eyes flashed.

---

The command center was beneath the apex of the

pyramid, with large viewports on each of its three faces.

The pyramid rotated slowly as it orbited so that the sun

moved slowly from one viewport to the next.

Levant observed. “The ceilings in here are real y

high.”

It was true, the decks in the ship were a uniform four

meters in height. Even beyond the vertical expanse, this

was unlike any command center they had ever seen.

There were three grand statues in the center holding

aloft a gold sphere in their upraised arms; as though

playing a particularly intense game of wal y-bal . Their

faces were inhuman, their limbs were elongated, and

they sported both female breasts and male genitalia.

Similar statues lined the corridor leading to the command

center; grotesque, gargoyle-like things in gold and

chrome.

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There were no workstations, no command chairs,

only rows of free-standing wal s covered with sigils and

symbols. The sigils and symbols glowed and moved with

the touch of a fingertip. Levant was having difficulty

translating them. “They are similar to some of the

scripting we found in the archives at the Chanticleer

StarLock; but they’re… older… far more ornate. It’s like

trying to read hieroglyphics written in cal igraphy.”

Banks told him to keep trying. With an assist from the

technical specialists, she final y got one of the large

triangular screens to activate. It provided a schematic

display of the internal power systems of the pyramid

ship.

Banks stared at it long enough to process what it was

tel ing her. “The three sides of the ship are covered with

some kind of panels harvesting energy from the sun and

feeding it into the ship. Most of the energy is going into

the base levels.”

Levant was curious about the lower levels of the

pyramid. Thousands of oval shapes fil ed the base like

wel -organized medicinal capsules. ““What are those?

Sarcophagi?”

Banks didn’t think so. “Sarcophagi would not require

that much energy, but those could be suspended

animation pods.” She made a quick count and

calculated. “10,000 of them.”

“You mean there’s ten thousand ancient

transhumans in stasis on this ship.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. The pods are

drawing some power, but not enough to maintain

molecular stasis. We should have a team check them out

though.”

Levant tapped a finger on a very large oval in the

center of the Annunciation Chamber. “That one is a lot

bigger than the others, and it’s pul ing in a lot of power.

Any idea what it is?”

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---

The Annunciation Chamber was a vast, dark space

with a large object like a recumbent statue in the center

of it, spotlighted by a single white light from above.

Keeler, Alkema, and the two warfighters crossed the long

deck. None of them were wearing pants and their

glowing purple eyes pierced the gloom.

Keeler hummed contentedly as they crossed the

floor, pausing to observe, “That is a long way to walk.

You know what we need to bring on these missions?

Hovercycles. We’d al be like… vroom, vroom!”

Alkema’s voice came as a lilt. “Oh, we could wear the

most darling hovercycle outfits. Something in Saurian

leather I imagine.”

Keeler disagreed. “No, sil y, it would have to be

leather. Chiffon wrinkles so easily.”

After a good half hour of walking they approached the

triplex of enormous black cubes on which the statue

rested. As they came close, they experienced what felt

like a hal ucination of the statue coming to life, rising and stretching as though after a long sleep. The il usion

passed, and the statue remained as before, but a living

version of it had appeared before them.

The being was over three meters tal ; its skin was as

dark and glossy as the wal s and floors of the ship. Its

eyes were two bright purple orbs. It rose slowly up from

the sarcophagus and addressed them in a deep and

echoey, yet somehow feminine voice. “We are Shur.”

So completely in her thral was Commander Keeler

that he did not even respond: “Sure of what?”

Shur continued “We have registered your presence.

Now, we are inside of you. Who has come to serve us?”

“Wel , I’m Bil … you can cal me Bil y. And this is

Davey. And I don’t real y know these two fel as…”

Shur commanded, “Kneel.”

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Again, Keeler in control of his faculties would have

answered, “Not Neil… Bil … B-I-L-L.” But Keeler was not

himself. He, Alkema, and the two warfighters dropped to

their knees.

Shur gently caressed the back of one of the

warfighter’s necks. “There are more with you. Cal

them… a few at a time. Bring them to me that I may

come inside them.”

Keeler would have had something to say to that as

wel , were he in his right mind. Instead, he activated his

COM Link: “Landing team two to the Annunciation

Chamber. We’ve found something…. Wonderful.”

Shur continued to stroke the Warfighter’s cheek. “You

should meet with your fel ow warriors before they reach

us, and encourage them to make use of my Initiation

Chambers.”

The warfighters stood, and went off to meet their

comrades.

---

After some initial success with the internal systems,

Hardcandy Banks had reached an impasse. She was

baffled trying to make some sense of which systems in

the pyramid did what.

Levant was similarly frustrated. “I can understand just

enough of these symbols to be completely baffled by the

ones I can’t make sense out of.”

Banks frowned, “How so?”

Levant ran his finger along one of the wal s, symbols

lighting up as he touched them: “This symbol translates

roughly as ‘glory’ or ‘magnificence’ and it shows up in

about every other phrase, sometimes paired with the

symbol that means ‘transformation’ or ‘becoming’ which

probably ties into the Ancient Transhumans. But this next

wal talks al about, unless I am badly misreading these

symbols… sleep…”

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“Sleep?”

Levant crossed his arms, “Big sleep…maybe Great

Sleep… and this line, ‘Not enough stars for her … or

maybe, to be worthy of… her glory’ It’s out of context.

Unless this isn’t so much a command center as a kind of

library.”

Banks also crossed arms. “That would explain why I

only have limited system access to ship’s systems. But

where is the actual command center.”

Levant walked over to the schematic and touched the

Annunciation Chamber: “If I had to guess… I think it’s

here. Maybe this large object in the center that draws al

the energy functions like a braincore, running al the

systems autonomously. But I would have to look at it in

person to be sure.”

“OK, I can tel you’re getting antsy, you can head

down to the Annunciation Chamber. I’l stay up here and

see if I can find any more technical information. Don’t be

too long, I can’t do the translation entirely on my own.”

Levant nodded, hardly able to suppress a smile. “Wil

you be OK up here?”

She patted Tralfaz on the head. “I’l be fine, I’m sure

these guys won’t let anything happen to me.”

Scrapper assume a fighting stance. “Oh, no, we

won’t. Just let anybody hurt you! Let me at ‘em! I wil

scrap them!”

Tralfaz rol ed his glowing red eyes “Oh, good lord…”

---

Most of the rest of the landing team had gathered in

the Annuciation Chamber, like a smal convention of

people who didn’t like pants. The last few were dragged

in, screaming or stunned. Once subdued, they accepted

the insertion of the purple, sluglike creatures that were

the instruments of Shur’s control.

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Warmaster Kitaen had put up a stalwart resistance

when he saw what was happening to the warfighters

under his command. First, he fought. Then he evaded.

Then, he fought some more. But final y, enough stun

bolts from enough gauntlets had brought him down, and

two of the strongest of his changed men dragged him

into the annunciation chamber.

Commander Keeler slapped him lightly around the

face: “Wake up, sleepy-head.”

Technically, it was an injection from a field MedTech

that brought Kitaen around, but he was awake. “I wil

destroy you!”

Keeler stroked his bald head. “So much hostility. You

are going to be so much more relaxed when this is over.”

He leaned over and planted a kiss on Kitaen’s

unwilling lips then pul ed back.

Kitaen spat. “What the hel was that? Some sort of

mind-control kiss? That won’t work on me. I have the

discipline of Sumac.”

“Oh, Gennie, the Cotopaxi’s kiss is only meant to put

you in the right frame of mind for the insertion of the joy

bug.”

“He’s clamped it up tight!” Announced a frustrated

MedTech.

Keeler sighed, “You must have something to loosen

the drawbridge.”

The MedTech giggled. “Sil y me, of course I do.”

She drew her largest transdermal injector from the

pouch and loaded it with muscle relaxant. “In a few

seconds, General, you’l be happy to receive the gift of

Cotopaxi.”

Kitaen was awake through the procedure, but the

monumental amount of muscle relaxation overcame

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even his Sumacian wil as four men pried him open and

let the purple, glowing slug-creature do its thing.

When it was over, Keeler asked. “How do you feel?”

A huge smile spread across Kitaen’s face. “Pretty.”

Kitaen’s eyes flashed purple.

Now that it was done, Shur gathered the others in the

center, basking in their adoration. “The Initiation is

complete. We will now begin your transformation.”

A white mist began to fil the chamber. Colorful lights

began strobing. Pulsing music came from seemingly al

directions to assault their ears. Shur chose Keeler,

Alkema, and Kitaen to come forward: “You were the first

and the last to be initiated, but you shal al be the first to complete your Transformations.”

Three cubes beneath the statue hissed open and dry-

ice smoke bil owed from within them; pink and purple

spotlights shown on them. Obediently, Keeler, Alkema,

and Kitaen stepped inside and let the doors seal behind

them. Loud music played to hide the screams.

They emerged a few moments later, transformed and

naked, smooth between his legs and hairless below the

neck.

Shur asked, “How do you feel?”

Keeler answered, “Different, in the best kind of way.”

Alkema smiled dreamily, “As though my burdens

have been taken from me.”

Kitaen agreed, “I feel very comfortable the way I am.”

Shur selected three more to begin the process.

Alkema drifted over to Keeler. “Wel , that’s everybody

except you-know-who?”

Keeler didn’t know. “Who?”

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“You know… the smart blond girl with the rack, and

that other fel a.”

Keeler snapped his fingers. “Oh, right, of course.

How sil y of me.” He tapped his COM Link. “Lt. Scientist

Banks, sweetie, we are waiting for you in the

Annunciation Chamber.”

There was an immediately response from Hardcandy

Banks. “Commander, I’m stil working on something up

here. I sent Levant down.”

“Oh, no, sweetie, I think you need to come right on

down.”

There was a lag before she replied. “Are you al right,

commander?”

Keeler tried to sound more like his usual self: “I’m fine

it’s just… we’ve made a huge discovery down here, and

we need al hands on deck.”

Banks responded, a little too … seriously. “I’l come

down soon commander. Just let me finish this system

diagnostic.”

Kitaen closed the link. “I think she’s not coming, sil y

little thing. Davey, sweetie, why don’t you go and

convince Lt. Rack that she should join us here

immediately.”

Alkema agreed. “Okie-dokie.”

“Put on some pants first.”

Alkema giggled. “Oh, if I must.”

---

Banks had been, she was sure, right on the verge of

discovering the central command circuit of the pyramid

when the sigils and symbols stopped responding.

Instead, they began to move and glow on their own. She

wondered if she had inadvertently activated an

automated control system. Without Levant and the techs,

she had been left to figure it out on her own.

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She decided to take a shot at inspecting one of the

power transfer nodes herself, but just as she was getting

to leave the command center she saw Lt. Commander

Alkema leaning against the doorway.

“Oh, David, you startled me.”

Alkema answered her in an oddly sultry voice. “Oh,

did I do that? So sorry.”

The voice didn’t sound right at al . “Are you al right?”

“I have never felt better. Why haven’t you joined the

rest of us in the Annunciation Chamber?”

“I think it’s more important that I finish here.”

“Is it?” Alkema grabbed her by the wrist. “You real y

need to come to the Annunciation Chamber. It’s the most

amazing thing.”

He leaned in to kiss her, and she pushed him back.

“Lt. Commander, what’s wrong with you? You know I’m

engaged to Flight Captain Toto.”

Alkema laughed. “He’s down in the Annunciation

Chamber already. He wants you to join us.”

Banks furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s down there?”

Alkema sighed. “Something wonderful. It will change

you.”

Banks pul ed away from him: “Change me? How?”

“Wel , why don’t I just show you.”

He dropped his pants.

Hardcandy Banks screamed.

While he was stil distracted by her screaming, she

fired her pulse gauntlet at him on maximum stun. When it

didn’t seem to work, she fired again, but it took a third

shot to bring him down and a fourth just to be sure.

She looked in her landing pack for something to

restrain him. He was out for only a few seconds before

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his eyes fluttered open. She leveled the gauntlet again,

but when he spoke, his voice was normal. “Specialist

Banks.”

“Right here, David. What the hel happened to you?”

Alkema seemed to be fighting through pain as he told

her the story. “When I sat down on the device we thought

was a euphemism, some sort of creature entered me

through… through the endpoint of my alimentary canal. It

took over my body.”

Banks had seen this holodrama. “And you were

trapped, forced to observe while it made your body to

terrible things.”

Alkema shook his head: “It wasn’t like that. I was

happy, blissful, and I just wanted to live for the pleasure

of serving Shur. I had no will, I simply obeyed.”

“Shur?”

“Shur… she’s this creature, this being, this entity…

It’s like she doesn’t even have to tel you what to do, you

just know what she wants and you just do it. If she had

wanted me to cut my own throat with a knife, I would

have done it with a smile.”

“And she must have wanted your genitalia gone,

because you are smooth down there.”

“We al walked into this machine. When I came out….

my genitalia were gone and I felt… very strange things

that I am now quite ashamed of.”

“Oh, Dave,” Hardcandy reached out to hold him. “I’m

so…”

Alkema pushed her off. “Don’t! The creature is

stunned right now, but it could wake up any time. I have

to tel you what I know before it takes over again. They’re

al down there… the entire landing team. She’s

transforming them.”

“Why?”

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“To protect Cotopaxi,” Alkema closed his eyes tight

and shook his head. “There’s something else, but it’s

starting to slip away from me. They chose this sun

because it wil be stable for the next four bil ion years,

which is how long they intended to remain in stasis.”

“Why four bil ion years?”

“Four bil ion years from now, the Milky Way wil

merge with Andromeda, creating the Milkdromeda

supergalaxy. I think the Transhumans intended to re-

emerge from stasis and conquer the new supergalaxy.”

“What Transhumans?”

“Her army. They’re in stasis in the lower levels.”

Banks shook her head. “No, they’re not. The stasis

pods aren’t working. There’s no one down there.”

Alkema gripped her arm. “It’s waking up, the slug

inside of me.” Fighting through the effort, he gave an

order. “Stun me.”

“Stun you?”

“I’m losing control, I feel the creature awakening, and

I think she wants me to kil you if you won’t come down

with us.”

She shot him again and one more time, just to be

sure. Then, she retrieved a Medi-Kit and gave him as

much sedative as she dared.

With Alkema out, she began thinking over her next

move. Normal y, she would report the situation to

Pegasus, but with the COM Links cut off that was not an option. Pegasus would eventual y send help after the

team had been out of contact for 28 hours. She didn’t

know if the landing team had that much time. She

suspected not. The only thing standing between the

rescue team and an ambush was her.

And Levant as it turned out. He just then reappeared

in the command center. She leveled her gauntlet at him.

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Levant held up his hands “Don’t shoot!”

Banks ordered. “Drop your pants.”

Most any other man in Pegasus’s crew would have

welcomed that order from Hardcandy Banks, but Levant

was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“I have to make sure you’re not one of them, now

drop your pants.”

Levant fumbled with his belt. “OK, OK…” He quickly

dropped his pants, explaining. “I saw what they were

doing in the Annunciation Chamber and I came back

here.”

Banks checked out his gear and was satisfied and

fairly impressed. “OK, you pass.”

Levant began sorting himself. “So, now what do we

do? Get back to a shuttle, go back to Pegasus for help.”

“I don’t think there’s time.” She tapped her COM Link:

“Any Pegasus personnel, please respond.”

She was answered by giggle, chatter, and invitations

to join them in the Annunciation Chamber. “Come on

down, we’re having a fabulous time.”

It was up to her and Levant, now. “Al right, I’m gonna

need your help.”

“Translating the rest of the symbols,” he asked

hopeful y.

“No, I need you to help me carry something from the

Aves. Bring the dogs.” She had an idea. Actual y, she

had two ideas. The second idea would work if the first

idea went badly.

---

General Kitaen stood beside the center cues dressed

in a pretty pink tutu, holding an invisible dol in his hands and stroking its soft, soft hair. A trio of warfighters

danced nearby in skintight topless jumpsuits with

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cutaway buttocks and transparent crotch panels; lip-

synching to a song that only they could hear.

Commander Keeler, wearing a hot pink sequined

party dress and blond hair extensions, squatted next to

Kitaen. “OMA, General, you are so-o-o-o pretty. OMA, I

can’t believe how pretty you are.”

Kitaen waved his hands. “OMA, stop, you’re making

me embarrassed.”

Keeler’s COM Link activated. He tapped it. “Talk to

me, sweetie.”

Hardcandy Banks asked, “I’d like to speak to Shur, if I

could.”

Keeler replied, “Oh, Honey, I don’t know if that’s

possible. She doesn’t have a COM implant thingy.”

“Al right, then convey a message to her.”

Keeler sighed in frustration. He knelt. “Your

Magnificence… my Science Office wishes an audience

with you.”

Shur’s purple eyed glowered. “She must come to

me.”

Keeler went on, “Unfortunately, your eminence, she

is in your landing bay and wil depart on one of our ships

if you wil not meet her.”

Shur was not concerned. “We wil destroy it as it

flies.”

Keeler paused to listen to Banks: “She says

something about leaving behind a bomb-type thingy in

the landing bay, set to destroy the ship as soon as she

clears the blast radius. And only she has the… oh,

what’s that sil y thing cal ed… the disarming code.”

Shur’s eyes blazed, fury red instead of kinky purple.

“We wil deal this woman.”

---

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Shur came down to the Landing Bay, but she did not

come alone. She brought her new converts with her.

Banks had expected this. She raised the remote

detonator over her head. “Don’t come any closer.”

Shur addressed her in warm, beatific tones. “We did

not come to fight you, or to harm anyone. Once we

explain ourselves to you, you will wil ingly join us.”

Banks shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Shur raised a hand. “There is no need for this foolish

insolence. Look at your shipmates. They are happy. And

thanks to us, they wil have a destiny they could not have

imagined in their former, puny, insignificant lives.”

Banks waved the detonator at her shipmates. “Why

did you do this to them?”

“They came here intending to harm her, to dismantle

her for parts. We could not al ow her to be desecrated in

such an insolent fashion. We had to render them

harmless.”

Banks wasn’t sure she understood. “Her?”

Shur spread her hands over her head. “Cotopaxi.”

“You mean the ship.”

Shur shook her head. “Cotopaxi is not the ship, the

ship is Cotopaxi.”

Several things clicked in Banks’s fast, hyperintel igent

brain. “Cotopaxi was a transhuman. This ship was her

form.”

Shur insisted. “IS her form. This pyramid is a living organism… an entity with power beyond your imagining.

Cotopaxi was once absolute ruler over bil ions of your

kind.”

“We did not realize this was … her. We were only

looking for materials to repair our ship.” Banks wondered

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what would have happened if they had managed to

incorporate Cotopaxi’s parts into Pegasus’s systems.

Shur gestured toward Keeler, Kitaen and the others,

doing one anothers hair and trying on dresses. “As you

can see, we rendered your people quite incapable of

harming her.”

Hardcandy Banks wanted to know. “Can they be

changed back?”

“That does not matter.” Shur held up one of her

enormous but oddly delicate hands: “Silence! She is

speaking to me. She says she heard you say there were

10,000 aboard your ship?”

“Approximately.”

“She needs them.”

“Needs them?”

Shur reached out to her mind and conveyed a

novel a’s worth of information in less than a second.

When the crusaders closed in on her planet, Cotopaxi

had chosen ten thousand fol owers to come with her, to

go into stasis for four bil ion years and awaken when the

Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies had merged into one

supergalaxy worthy of ruling over. But the crusaders

managed one last assault, destroying the escape ships

and kil ing most of the ten thousand except for Shur. That

was why the sarcophagi in the base of the ship were

empty.

Banks understood. “You want me to bring people

from Pegasus to become her new Legion.”

“You wil tel them they need to abandon their broken

ship, and come to Cotopaxi. Tel them they wil be safe

here. They wil join with us.”

Banks argued, “Most of them are children we rescued

from Gethsemane before their planet was destroyed.”

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Shur was pleased. “Children are ideal for her

purposes. They can be molded easily into usable forms.

They will be blessed with immortality. They will rule over

worlds in her Name. We had thought to sleep until the

galaxies merged into a supergalaxy worthy of

domination. But we now from those we’ve taken that the

Commonwealth is gone, and we could take your worlds

with little resistance.”

Shur came closer. “You wil be among the chosen.

You wil rule over a world as a goddess. Its people shal

bow to you as they would to a living god”

Banks nodded, but let her smile fade to a hard look of

defiance. “I think not. You are not going to transform me;

I like myself the way I am.”

Shur’s eyes flashed, and her skin suddenly flamed

with red fury. “Insolence. We manipulate reality as clay in

our hands and you dare defy us.”

Banks derided her. “You don’t real y manipulate

anything except for emotion and will. You are extremely

good at it, and you wil eventual y succeed in breaking

me. But if something doesn’t have a wil to bend, nor

emotions to leverage… wel , you can’t control that, can

you? You can’t control machines. But I can.”

In the deepest shadows of the landing bay, four smal

red lights appeared. They were set in the eye sockets of

what appeared to be grotesque statuary of dogs; huge

dogs with gleaming teeth and shining metal armor.

“Tralfaz… Scrapper….” Hardcandy Banks

commanded. “Get her!”

“Let me at her!” Scrapper was at her throat in an

instant.

---

As the Trauma Hounds tore into Shur, her control

over the landing crew broke down, temporarily at least.

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They had snapped out of her thral and were looking

around in confusion.

Alkema was wearing a spare jumpsuit from the

shuttle, he shouted loudly: “Over here! Get to the Aves.

Technical crew to this ship. Now! Move, Move!”

Levant emerged from a different ship. “Science

teams to this ship.”

Kitaen picked up on the theme. “Warfighters to

Leonidas. ”

Alkema dashed over to Keeler. “Are you al right,

Commander?”

Keeler looked over his sparkle painted nails: “Do I

real y have to answer that?”

The rest of the landing crew were looking around at

each other, at their humiliating get-ups, and asking what

had happened to their normal clothes.

Levant shouted “Forget your uniforms, just get back

to the ships.”

Keeler protested “I can’t go anywhere dressed like

this.”

Alkema desperately urged him toward Zil a. “There

isn’t any time, sir. Shur’s been ripped to pieces, but

Cotopaxi can regenerate her. We don’t have much time.

We have to get off this ship.”

Kitaen shouted. “Warfighters, abandon your clothes

and withdraw to the Aves.” Even beneath layers of eye

make-up, a sheer party dress, and cone-shaped breast

plates, he was stil commanding. He threw his dol aside

and ran with his men, toward the landing bay.

Alkema couldn’t run. He stumbled. Banks and Keeler

each grabbed an arm to support him. Keeler asked,

“What happened to you?”

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“Banks took out my butt slug with a Medikit. Hurts like

you wouldn’t believe. I’m bleeding out of my ass and

always about to black out, but it’s gone.”

As the last of them boarded the ship, the two trauma

hounds with bloodstained paws and fangs dashed onto

the tactical shuttle, leaping through the open hatches

dramatical y as the ship closed up.

When the last of them were on board, Alkema closed

the hatch. “Toto, we’re locked down. Punch it.”

The Aves lifted and rocketed into the landing corridor.

Keeler was grim. “I don’t think it will matter how far

away we are if Shur regenerates. As long as we have

these slugs inside of us…”

Banks reassured him. “I set up a failsafe. There’s a

nucleonic warhead rigged in the command center.

Hammerhead with a yield of 40 K-Booms.”

[ In the Sapphirean measure of weapon yield, 1 Boom

= Annihilation of al unshielded matter within a 1 meter

radius of detonation. 40 Kilo Boom (K-Boom) was

therefore equivalent to destroying al matter within 40

kilometers of detonation. ]

Zil a cleared the inverted triangle aperture, closely fol owed by the other Aves. They formed a line and shot

out toward open space. Hardcandy Banks checked her

chronometer. “Four seconds to detonation.”

“Are we going to clear the shock wave?” Alkema

asked the aviator who was piloting the ship.

The aviator shrugged. “Yeah, probably, I guess…” He

vectored high and poured on maximum thrust.

“Come on,” Alkema whispered. “Come on…”

The warhead detonated, a brief flash of light fol owed

in short order by the complete detonation of Cotopaxi’s

power systems.

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After al that build-up, a light shockwave buffeted the

Aves, but that was al .

“We made it,” Alkema said.

“True.” Keeler said, holding the crotch of his pretty,

sequined skirt. “The question is do we want to be.”

Alkema didn’t understand. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were going to say we’re stil

alive and my response was cued up for that.”

---

They linked ahead to Pegasus requesting MedTechs

and spare uniforms be ready in the hangar bays. In the

meantime survivors wrapped themselves in whatever

was available in the lockers of their Aves to avoid

appearing in front of their crewmates in Shur’s ridiculous

costumes. A trail of jettisoned sequined skirts and cone-

brassieres trailed behind Zil a and the other three ships.

Upon landing, they were rushed to the Medical Core.

Keeler, Alkema, and Kitaen were tended to by Chief

Skinner. After jabbing and poking at the areas of their

anatomies that had been altered, he was able to give

them news that brought them al relief.

“The damage done to your body was entirely

superficial. It will be possible … with some assistance…

for you to… how to put it… grow a new one?”

Keeler contemplated this for a few seconds. “While

you’re in there, a little more length and girth wouldn’t be

a bad thing.”

Alkema asked. “What about the butt slugs?”

Skinner remained chipper although the news on this

front was a bit more grim. “They are stil alive and

attached to your nervous systems at the base of your

spine. I can remove them, but it wil be a painful process

with a lengthy recovery as Lt. Commander Alkema wil

attest. Alternately, I can inject them with a toxin that wil

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kil them, after which they should pass out of your body in

three or four days. It would mean less pain for you, but

the butt-slugs would be useless for scientific study…”

Keeler and Kitaen spoke as one. “Kil them!”

Skinner sighed, “Very wel then. I’l prepare the toxin

and have the biotechs begin programming the nano

knitters to reconstruct your… undercarriages. It wil take

some time. 50 to 60 days would be my estimate. I also

recommend a program of therapeutic manual stimulation

to assure ful functionality returns.”

Keeler had to ask. “Are any of the junior female

MedTechs specialized in therapeutic manual stimulation?

Asking for a friend.”

Skinner excused himself. “You gentlemen may talk

among yourselves.”

When he left to tend to the other injured and

mutilated, Alkema said, “I am not looking forward to

writing the mission report on this one.”

Kitaen growled. “There is not going to be a mission

report.”

Alkema couldn’t believe Kitaen suggesting this, or

Keeler agreeing. “We’re not going to tel the whole galaxy

that we had slugs put in our butts that transformed us

into the gelded effeminate minions to a Transhuman

Space Princess. Nor will we tel them that we almost over

our ship’s children to her so she could turn them into her

mutant space army and conquer the galaxy. Let’s just

forget this thing ever happened and never speak of it

again.”

Alkema countered, “Our wounded pride aside… and I

realize our pride is very wounded… don’t we have a duty

to log this event for study by the homeworlds.”

Keeler decided, “You can report that we found an old

ship from the Commonwealth Era. It had a dangerous life

form on board so we nuked it. If they ever find another

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one like it, they should do the same. That’s al they need

it know.”

“A hundred people went on that mission. We can’t

silence al of them.”

Keeler didn’t think that would be a problem. “I don’t

think they want to talk about it any more than we do.”

Kitaen went on to have the final word. “We blasted

her ship to radioactive dust and eliminated the threat.

Our duty is concluded. I would prefer not to have this

exercise recorded in the Hal of Heroes.”

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ALPHA PRIORI

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Mission Report 08247707A --

Astra Consortium [Commercial Survey Vessel] Astra

Cartographer

Honoria Keeler, Mission Executive, Octember 24, AS7707

[SY7386]

Summation: In the course of operations in the Old Earth

system, we learned the location of several other advanced

research outposts of the former Galactic Commonwealth.

These advanced outposts may contain advanced technology a

thousand years or more over our current baseline. The nearest of these worlds to Old Earth was cal ed Alpha Priori. We have set course for the A. Priori system.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Astra Cartographer – "Wake up, sweetheart."

Max Jordan's eyes fluttered open. He had no idea

where he was. He was freezing. His limbs were too

heavy to move. He real y needed to piss. These were the

sequence of his first waking thoughts and the side effects

of the deep hibernation he had been in for the previous

eight days.

Persephone answered him, "We have just exited

hyperspace. We are within the Alpha Priori system. We’l

be in orbit in 180 minutes."

He remembered where he was. A few weeks earlier,

he had picked up a bil et a survey ship cal ed Astra

Cartographer as a Mission Tactical and Survey

Specialist. “How long was I asleep?”

Persephone: "Eight solar days, plus one hour,"

Persephone answered.

No wonder he felt groggy. He had woken up a day

early. Spikes of heat stabbed his fingers and toe as his

extremities awakened. Spikes of warmth “I was having

an intense erotic dream.”

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Persephone: “I know. I was there.”

Max’s companion was a sentient artificial intel igence

who could live in his head and share his dreams. He

swung his naked legs over the side of the hibernation

couch, careful to avoid the low, curving bulkhead of his

tiny compartment.

Persephone projected a hologram of herself, an

appealing young woman sporting dark black hair with

electric blue highlights that matched her eyes. "I've

prepared a warm mug of chemical stimulants to help you

wake up and achieve a normative metabolism."

Jordan needed to use the hygiene pod first. The pod

was tiny; like a place a child might choose for a game of

"Hide and Find." Purplish urine drained from his bladder into the receptacle. From there, it disappeared into the

ship’s highly efficient recycling system where it would be

reconstituted into … chemical stimulants.

When he finished, he opened the locker adjacent to

the hibernation couch and quickly assembled his tactical

dress --- boots, trousers, stylish black turtleneck, and

multi-pocket jacket. He put on his half-gloves and

strapped a pulse gauntlet on his arm. He didn’t think he

would have to shoot anyone in the crew this morning, but

he liked to remind them what his job on the ship was.

Persephone: “Members of the crew are meeting in

the Mission Room.”

He nodded an acknowledgement and maneuvered

his tal , fit body through the oval hatchway. One

compartment on Astra Cartographer opened into the

next. It minimized heating or pressurizing any meter of

space that wasn’t necessary. He passed through two

supply compartments and the Medical Bay to get to the

Mission Room.

Max Jordan was one of only eight crewmen Astra

Cartographer; whereas on Pegasus he had been one of

thousands. As Jordan entered the Mission Room, he got

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a quick nod from Gage Aarad, the ship’s other resident

tactician. Technically, they were equal in rank and both

joined the ship in the Earth system after the Battle of

Terrastar. But Aarad regarded Jordan as the junior

tactical operative. Aarad was from Wolf’s Head colony; a

world covered in wilderness and infested with deadly

predators. Its sons and daughters (those that survived)

made for the fiercest warriors in the galaxy.

Honoria Keeler and Captain Den Beste stood at the

front of the room. Den Beste was the shipmaster, but

Keeler was the company officer for the Astra Consortium.

Official y, Den Beste ran the ship and Keeler was in

charge of the mission. In practice, they ground against

each other like tectonic plates. She had dark hair and

piercing brown eyes, her skin was the color of burned

caramel. He was a trim, neat, and otherwise

unremarkable man of early middle age.

Gamaliel Suzuki, the ship’s Scientist, was also at the

head of the table, positioned between the dueling

commanders. He was an old and nearly bald Republicker

who seemed to take a private delight in alternately

antagonizing and mediating the ship’s two command

officers. To one side of the table stood Helena 1404 and

Steadfast Modesty. Al the crew on the ship had to be

cross-functional, but Helena’s specialty was data

management and Steadfast Modesty was the ship’s

primary medic. Helena 1404 was from St. Fionan where

everybody was a clone of somebody else because a

radiation catastrophe had left the colonists sterile. She

was beautiful, but delicate. Steadfast Modesty was from

Aurora, a planet where, about two centuries earlier,

Jordan had lost his teenage virginity to a pansexual

alien. Aurora had changed a lot since then, its hedonistic

corporatist order replaced by a restrictive theocracy.

Jordan real y didn’t know much about Steadfast Modesty.

She wasn’t pretty, and she certainly wasn’t delicate.

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Only the engineer, Nicodemus Rhodes, from Guelph,

was absent. Cartographer’s hyperdrive required a

thorough checkout after cooldown.

A holographic display taking up one bulkhead

showed the ship’s course toward the only planet orbiting

the system’s smal , orange sun. It appeared to be a

beautiful world; evenly divided between land and sea,

with continents that glittered gold and green and oceans

of deep, deep blue. A pair of thick, metal ic rings girded

the planet at the equator.

Honoria crossed arms. “So, it’s a pretty planet.

Where’s the treasure?”

Suzuki shook his grizzled head. “Long-Range Sensor

sweeps have detected no significant technology on the

surface nor any indications of large-scale infrastructure.

The planet seems to be in a primeval state. However, the

planet’s artificial ring system is highly technological y

advanced.”

Suzuki zoomed in the live sensor feeds on the ring

structure, built of interlocking metal with the habitable

structures enclosed within a latticework. Honoria was

unimpressed. “Building rings around the planets isn’t

revolutionary tech. We can do that.”

Suzuki got an expression of undeserved satisfaction

on his face. “Many of the materials in the ring system are

unknown to our science. I believe we are looking at

artificial y constructed elements; stronger than

neutronium, lighter than beryllium. Are you impressed

now?”

Honoria conceded, “That has commercial potential.”

“Is anyone home?” asked Captain Den Beste.

"I detect no life indications from the ring system. It

appears to be abandoned," Persphone reported.

Aarad asked, “And by abandoned do you mean al

life on the ring was wiped out by the Tarmigans?” 2,000

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years earlier, an alien race known as the Tarmigans

worked their way through the galaxy wiping out more

than 90% of humanity and destroying the former Galactic

Commonwealth.

“Uncertain, but highly probable,” Persephone replied.

Suzuki: “The planet’s electromagnetic field is four

times stronger than is typical for a world of this size,

composition, and proximity to its sun.”

Keeler: “Meaning?”

Suzuki: “It could be artificial y generated.”

Keeler: “Meaning there’s a power source on the

planet and potential y Commonwealth Tech.”

Suzuki grunted in affirmation.

Steadfast Modesty muttered: “I thought I smel ed

money when we came into this system.”

Keeler: “What about sub-surface? Has that been

probed yet?” The surviving technology on Old Earth had

been found deep in underground caverns.

Suzuki: “Not until we make orbit,” Suzuki replied.

Keeler: “Al right, then, we’ll prep two teams. I’l take a

team into the ring system to check it out; Helena and the

new guy with the AI in his head. Suzuki, you take Aarad

and Modesty and check out the surface.” Den Beste and

Rhodes would stay with Cartographer, as they usual y

did.

There was about an hour before the ship reached the

planet’s rings. The equipment compartment was next to

the aeroshuttle dock. Aarad grabbed a backpack off the

rack and threw it at Jordan hitting him hard and square

on the chest. “Get to it, load up the landing gear.”

Max Jordan tossed it right back at him. “We’re *al *

packing gear. You’re not my supervisor.”

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Aarad glowered, flexed, and fixed for another show of

dominance, but Modesty cut him off. “Particulars,” she

said (which was an Auroran Military form of address, like

“Gentlemen,” but more specific), “This doesn’t have to be

hard. We have seven packs to do. We’l each do our

own. I’l do Helena’s. Aarad, you’l do Suzuki’s. Jordan,

you’l do Keeler’s.”

No point in arguing, but Aarad found one anyway.

“Who put you in charge?”

“Nobody, I saw what needed to be done and I did it.”

Aarad sulkily went to an adjacent chamber and

prepped his landing packs. Jordan checked the list to

see what went into Keeler’s pack. She took a scanner

and a backup scanner, the standard nutrition bars, and

two liters of water. No weapons.

‘Suicide’ – Astra Cartographer dropped the

aeroshuttle designated ‘Suicide’ from beneath its port

wingblade. The aeroshuttles were mostly self-piloting,

but Aarad took the control seat where he could steer it

toward the planet.

Suzuki requested Aarad to take the ship in for a pass

at twenty kilometers. “I will prepare sensors.”

Aarad: “Any particular sector you would like to

survey?”

Suzuki suggested, “The areas around the surface

structures we detected may be the most promising.”

Cartographer dipped from its high station beyond the

planet’s rings and began a course toward one of the

planet’s plains, in the middle of which was a large

sculpture of shining metal. The ship dipped under the

ring system and then toward the atmosphere.

As it passed the 160 kilometers in altitude mark, the

ship suddenly found itself back at the starting point.

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Suzuki asked. “Why are we back in orbit.”

(Technically, not in orbit, but Suzuki misused space

terminology sometimes.)

Aarad scowled. “We were on course toward the

planet, and then suddenly we were back at our original

coordinates.” A display in the cockpit was showing him

this.

Suzuki: “Try again. Same coordinates and vector.”

Aarad relayed the command to the ship’s piloting

system.

Modesty asked, “What do you think is going to

happen?”

Suzuki replied, “It is likely to produce the same result

as before. This time, I wil study the phenomenon.”

Once again, as the ship reached 160 kilometers in

altitude above the surface, it instantly returned to its

starting position. Aarad cursed in his native Wolverian

dialect, something about setting something’s testicles on

fire.

Suzuki’s response was more thoughtful. “A defensive

system, perhaps? Some sort of repulsor beam, or a brief-

duration-hyperspace-slip-window.”

“Launch one of our probes and see if we get the

same result,” Modesty suggested.

A probe fired from underneath the aeroshuttle and

shot toward the planet. As it crossed the barrier it

reappeared next to the ship.

Suzuki stroked his chin, “It seems the surface is cut

off from us.”

Aarad suggested, “Engage Stealth Mode. We’l try

and sneak past it.”

Cartographer’s aeroshuttles posessed military grade

stealth systems and had demonstrated near total

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invisibility in field tests against planets that didn’t want

the consortium poking around in their business.

The aeroshuttle engaged stealth mode and the ship

effectively disappeared. It once again dove toward the

surface and reappeared at its starting point after crossing

within 160 miles of the surface.

“Kirk me!” Aarad shouted when the displays showed

them they were right back where they started.

Suzuki found the situation most interesting. “To

continue attempting is probably futile, but I don’t think the exec wil be satisfied until we have made ten or twelve

attempts from differing vectors.”

Aarad: “Can’t we just say we made ten or twelve

attempts?”

Suzuki: “She will check the logs. So let us make six

more attempts before we head for the ring system. My

suspicion is that access to the surface must be secured

through there.”

---

“Deathtrap” – The other aeroshuttle had a much

easier time. As it approached an area of the ring system

where they had identified possible docking facilities, it

suddenly appeared inside a hangar with its engines

powered down.

“Whoa, what was that?” Max Jordan was caught in

surprise like the rest of them.

“Some kind of… I don’t know, matter displacement?”

Honoria Keeler guessed.

Persephone appeared as glowing black and blue

hologram. “That describes part of the phenomenon, but it

doesn’t describe the mechanism.”

Jordan: “So you don’t know either.”

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Honoria Keeler made a few quick notes. “Automated

docking with no loss of atmosphere – definitely some

commercial potential there.”

“There’s a breathable atmosphere in the station,”

Helena 1404 confirmed from her station. “No

contamination or pathogens detected.” She was

something of an expert on the subject. Fionans had weak

immune systems as the result of generations of cloning.

She general y could not handle unprocessed air, and

was limited to ships and stations.

They stepped outside the airlock and found

themselves in an extravagantly large hangar space. The

air in the station was surprisingly fresh, with just a hint of lilac. Their ship was parked in a kind of spaceship

parking garage, on a circular pad that floated in a vast

empty space. There were other floating pads around

them, some large enough to park starliners on. Al of

them were empty.

Max Jordan made a tactical assessment. “I hope

there’s a way of getting back out of here.”

“That’s a question for later. Our immediate question

is how do we get off this pad?” Honoria paced around the

perimeter. There was no obvious connection to the rest

of the station.

Persephone mind-whispered to Max Jordan. “Jump.”

Jordan mind-replied. “What?”

“Trust me,” she whispered.

Max Jordan walked to the side of the pad and looked

down into a dark empty space with no bottom.

“What are you doing?” asked Honoria.

“Jump,” Persephone whispered again. “Trust me.”

He launched himself over the side.

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Instead of fal ing, he flew. This wasn’t mere tumbling

in weightlessness, but bird-like soaring. Some sort of

field was lifting him up. Instinctively, he spread his arms.

He saw a semicircle of light in the distance and

banked toward it. As he got closer, he saw that it was a

portal, with a sort of protuberance in front of it. He landed gently and tapped his COM Link. “There’s a platform on

the far side; apparently we can fly to it.”

The others landed by his side some moments later.

They agreed it was an interesting mode of entry.

Honoria ordered, “Persephone, get into the nerve

system of this place and find out if there’s a command

center or somewhere else we can get an idea of what al

there is here.”

“On it,” Persephone replied.

They entered a vast open corridor. Deck-to-ceiling

viewports provided a stunning view of the planet below

and the next ring over.

Persephone reappeared. “This place has a very

impressive holographic projection system.” She touched

Max Jordan’s elbow, and he could feel it; not as

simulated sensation she created by manipulating the

tactile processing centers of his brain, but the warmth

and feminine softness of her skin. Chil s traveled up his

spine, but he tried to remain on guard.

“Is there any sign of a central intel igence or a

command center?” Honoria asked.

Persephone replied. “There’s a large control chamber

14,000 meters from here.”

“That’s a long walk,” Honoria muttered.

“No, it isn’t,” Persephone answered.

It was difficult to discern exactly what happened.

There was an impression of things moving or shifting

around them in a blur, like looking out through the

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viewports of a MagLev train and watching the nearest

landmarks flash by. In mil eseconds, they were standing

in front of the giant hatchway to a large, green-paneled

room that if it wasn’t the command center, it was

something pretty close.

“What was that, a teleport?” Suzuki asked.

“Not real y, not like the ones we found on Earth,”

Persephone answered. “Linear Intact Matter

Acceleration. The ancients cal ed it… .”

“LIMA?” Keeler guessed.

“Tel y-Wel ies,” Persephone finished, and briefly

explained the use of nodes throughout the ring-system to

move personnel from one part to another.

A huge bright hologram of the planet and the artificial

ring system dominated the chamber. There weren’t any

obvious chairs or workstations, not even holoscreens,

but as they entered, three luminous white columns

appeared, one for each of the humanoids; Perseophone

was already linked into the system. The columns

appeared beside each of them and fol owed as they

moved about the room.

“Backup interface system,” Persephone explained.

“Originally, the crew interfaced with holographic avatars

of brightly colored anthropomorphic figures, but that part

of the system is offline.”

Honoria: “I’m going to be able to buy a planet with the

tech this place must have. Start digging around in the

archives. Find out what kind of advanced research they

were doing.”

Helena 1404 approached a column and held her

hand to the light. It began conveying information into her

mind, answering questions before she asked them. “This

instal ation was built far back in the history of the Galactic Commonwealth, in the thirty-seventh solar century, I

believe. Right at the height of the Mil ennium of War,”

Helena 1404 explained out loud.

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“So it was a weapons laboratory,” said Honoria.

Good, she thought. Weapons were valuable in

themselves, but the patent on the kind of weapons the

Commonwealth built to fight enemies with near godlike

powers was the kind of wealth that made Dynasties.

Granted, she was already part of a dynasty, but if she

ever wanted to start her own, she’d have the means.

“Initial y, I believe it was,” Helena 1404 continued. “It

was the Old Commonwealth’s most Top Secret facility.

After the wars were over, it became something different.”

That was Helena’s cue to bring up one of the data

files she had found that explained the origin of the world

the ring station surrounded.

"They built the entire planet. They built up the ring

first as a kind of jig, then drew in matter from the

surrounding dust cloud to build a planet, layer by layer.”

The hologram il ustrated this. “And not just the planet; but

every creature on its surface, every animal, every plant,

every microbe was bioengineered here in this

laboratory.”

Helena 1404 wasn’t finished. “The ring system

continued to be a laboratory after the planet was

constructed. And the planet also a laboratory for them to

study bioengineered life forms and also to construct the

most advanced artificial intel igence ever created by

human engineering.”

“Son of a bitch,” Honoria was beginning to grasp the

scale of the discovery. She stuck her hand into one of

the light columns, waited, removed it, and then stuck it in

again. “I’m not getting anything. How come I’m not

getting anything?”

Jordan stuck his hand in the light. “I’m not getting

anything either.”

Persephone suggested, “Perhaps, the system is

rejecting your Sapphirean DNA as non-human.”

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Honoria pointed at Helena 1404, “But she was cloned

from a Sapphirean.”

Helena 1404 corrected. “Technically, I was cloned

from a clone of a Sapphirean.”

Keeler insisted: “Why won’t the system link with me.”

Persephone: “I’m working on that question. Receiving

a message. The second aeroshuttle is transmitting on

COM Link.”

Suzuki’s voice popped into each of their Eustachian

implants. “Our landing team cannot reach the surface.

Some sort of defensive system is repulsing our shuttle

when we try to penetrate the atmosphere. We are laying

in a course for the ring system and wil meet you there to

discuss next steps.”

Persephone conveyed docking instructions to the

shuttle. The short version was, “Fly toward the docks and

you’l just appear inside.” The crew of Suicide soon

joined them in the control center. More columns of light

appeared. Suzuki walked ful body into his. “Oh, yes, this

is most invigorating.”

Persephone managed to rig up a holographic display

screen and get Honoria to stop her nervous pacing. Now,

she could at least see the data Persephone was

accessing. “Show me the system that keeps us from

getting down to the planet.”

Persephone apologized, “I haven’t isolated that

system, ma’am.”

Not being able to see what was down there only

made Honoria more determined to see what was down

there.

Suzuki: “The planet seems to be the object of a large-

scale experiments in biological evolution and in

advanced artificial cognizance. The Ancients would have

required a planetary scale artificial consciousness to

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monitor, control, and adjust conditions across the entire

planet. I believe they built such a thing as this."

Persephone added her perspective. "So, if an AI

shipmind, for example one on a large Star Cruiser, is

capable of operating thousands of systems, monitoring

the biosigns of a thousand or so crewmen… then, this is

an artificial intel igence that can monitor, perhaps control, everything on an entire planet.”

Helena agreed. “The scale of such a thing, it's

exponential, it’s mind-boggling.”

Honoria began to imagine what she could buy with

the bonus from delivering a planetary-scale AI to Auntie

Bernadette back on Loki. The commission on that thing

would probably exceed the GDP of half the colonies in

the Perseus Sector. “We have to find a way down there

and that AI.”

“Is this real y wise?” Max Jordan interrupted, a little

reluctantly because he was new to this group. “We ran

into Super Artificial Intel igences back on Earth; the SAIs.

And you’re saying this intel igence is beyond those?”

Suzuki: “Aye, far more powerful… orders of

magnitude more powerful, like a star compared to a

municipal fusion reactor.”

Jordan: “The original SAIs manipulated humanity into

the Mil ennium of War as an experiment to find out if God

real y existed, and they didn’t care that it cost 200 bil ion human lives. Don’t you think this one might be… um…

orders of magnitude more dangerous?”

Aarad snorted derisively, “Admiral Keeler outsmarted

the SAI’s, and he was a drunken bobo.”

“That’s not real y…” Jordan began.

Keeler cut him off. “Every AI has to have a data

cortex, a braincore. It has to reside in something

physical. But you didn’t detect structures on the surface,

right?”

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Suzuki admitted. “That’s not quite true. We didn’t

detect any large-scale infrastructure. However, there are

a few artificial structures on the surface.”

“Did you carry out subsurface scans like I ordered?”

Suzuki explained, “Our sensors have not been able

to penetrate the surface of the planet. However, our

analysis of these structures has yielded an interesting

data point.” He projected them onto the hologram of the

planet. “There are 6,606 structures on the planet’s

surface. Notice the arrangement; perfectly symmetrical

latitudinal chains, equal spacing between structures and

extending to a lattice underneath the planet’s crust.”

Helena 1404 recognized it. “Like the nodes in a

cognitive network.”

Suzuki nodded. “Precisely.”

Honoria sighed. “You could have just said, ‘There,

that’s where the cortex is located.’”

Suzuki: “We do not know that for certain.”

Honoria shifted on her feet, like a sprinter ready to

start a race. “It’s a place to start. Now, how do we get

down to the surface?”

Suzuki: “Not with shuttles, obviously. But if we

assume the ancient scientists had access to the surface,

then these rings must contain a means of getting to the

surface.”

Honoria: “Persphone, how are you coming with your

cataloguing of the station’s technology.”

Persephone reported. “There are a number of LIMA

nodes that appear to link to coordinates on the planet’s

surface.”

Keeler: “So we can use the Tel y-wel ies.”

“Tel y-wel ies!” Suzuki laughed heartily at that, his

laughter ringing across the laboratory. Not like the usual

“Hm-hm-hm” chuckle he usual y issued.

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Honoria Keeler: “Is there some kind of tel y-wel y

room that wil transport us to the surface.”

Persephone: “Negative.”

Keeler: “Then, how?”

Persephone: “A LIMA beam can lock onto you from

any point in the station. Al you have to do is request it;

or, in your case, have someone who can link to the

system request it.”

Honoria thought for a moment. “Al right, I want

Aarad, Steady, and Jordan with me. Grab your packs,

we’re going down. Try to put us down close to one of

those nodes.”

---

Priori: The Surface – There was a momentary

impression of being fil ed with white light. And then,

Honoria, Aarad, Steadfast Modesty, and Max Jordan

appeared on the surface.

Teleports were known for arriving you at your

destination feeling simultaneously drunk and hungover.

The Atlantis moonbase kept a man on standby to clean

up the mess whenever anyone teleported in. The threat

of assignment to the Teleport Yawn Clean Up crew was

good for base discipline.

But there was none of that effect with this system.

You simply appeared on the surface. Not only was there

neither nausea nor disorientation, but instead a sense of

refreshment, like emerging from a cool swimming pool on

a hot day.

They had appeared on a plain of soft, bottle green

grass stretching toward some gentle hil s in the distance.

White and yel ow flowers growing everywhere lent

sweetness to the breeze. Orange and turquoise

butterflies flitted among the blossoms. The sun was

bright and golden above them and glinted off the ring

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system that encircled the sky like a thin golden bracelet

on the wrist of a pudgy girl.

None of them were sentimental enough to speak out

loud how beautiful this world was, but it was achingly

beautiful.

They had teleported to the vicinity of the largest

surface structure Suzuki had located on the surface…

and missed. They could see the structure, but it was wel

over a kilometer from where they were.

Modesty jumped and spread her arms, then landed

hard on her feet.

“What was that?” Max Jordan asked.

“I thought maybe we could fly,” she answered, her

face reddening. “It worked on the space station. I guess

we have to walk.”

And then, they heard a sound like far distant thunder,

and the ground trembled beneath them.

Aarad raised his gauntlets. “Something’s coming.”

Modesty and Jordan raised their gauntlets and

zoomed their tactical Spex toward the western horizon.

Honoria: “What are you seeing?”

Aarad: “Giant naked people.”

Honoria: “Do they seem friendly?”

Aarad: “No, the opposite.”

The things lumbering toward them were humanoid,

about 10 meters tal , and completely naked although

lacking in naughty bits; it was completely smooth down

there, which removed the one potential y hilarious aspect

of this situation and made it, in fact, far more horrible.

Jordan tapped his COM Link: “Persephone, can you

teleport us out of here.”

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Honoria protested. “Not yet. We have to find the

cortex.”

Jordan: “That won’t happen if we’re kil ed by giant

naked monsters.”

Honoria: “Just shoot them. What do I pay you people

for?”

Aarad, Modesty, and Jordan opened up as the

colossi came within range. The ion bolts from their

gauntlets didn’t seem to faze the naked goliaths in the

least.

Jordan repeated. “Persephone, can you get us out of

here.”

Persephone answered him. “You have to get to an

up-node. There’s one just half a kilometer from your

location.”

Jordan knew what she meant: “Yeah, the ancient

structure on the other side of the attack giant. Terrific.”

The behemoths with no genitals moved continued to

move with speed and deliberation toward their position

as the ion bolts struck them harmlessly. Aarad and Max

aimed their gauntlets at the beasts, “Maximum pulse

yield,” Aarad suggested, unnecessarily. Bolts of blue-

white energy launched from the end of their arms, hitting

one of the monstrosities squarely in his face but not

deterring it in the least.

Honoria: “Um…”

Jordan: “Break and Run!”

Jordan and Modesty broke right, Honoria and Aarad

left. The idea was to be fast enough to evade them, since

speed might have been their only advantage.

Four of the naked giants broke off in pursuit of Aarad

and Honoria while five pursued Jordan and Modesty.

“There!” Modesty shouted. There was a hil ock nearby

that might have been the only dcent hiding spot on the

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rol ing plain. Jordan ran for it and hunkered down behind

her. It wasn’t much, but it probably gave them another

twenty seconds to figure something out while the hulks

closed in.

Jordan heard Persephone whisper “Bal istics!” He

switched his gauntlet setting and then emerged from a

rol ing dive and fired at the closest giant, aiming for the

knees.

The giant col apsed and let loose with a

groundshaking roar as his kneecaps exploded, his

enormous head and gaping mouth fal ing just short of

their position. The ground shuddered, tripping both of

them. Jordan swung the big around and fired at the

monster’s forehead.

Persephone whispered: “Back of the neck, it’s where

they are most vulnerable.”

Jordan stood, ran, jumped on the monster’s back and

unloaded the big gun into the base of the giant’s neck. It

stopped moving.

Jordan tapped his COM Link: “Aarad, you have to hit

them in the back of the neck with bal istics.”

Maybe Aarad responded, but al Jordan heard was a

brief grunt. Another naked giant was bearing down on

them already. Jordan rol ed behind and shot up its spine

until he hit the spot where the head connected to the

neck. The second monster was down.

This seemed to scare off the others because they

hesitated, then turned and retreated.

“What were those things,” Jordan asked.

Persephone: “Another one of Priori’s science

experiments. There’s nothing about them in the records.

Your tactical scan detected the vulnerability at the back

of the neck. If I find anything else of tactical value, I’l let you know. In the meantime, it’s not safe down there. Get

to the node.”

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Jordan looked at the tal sculpture, stil over a klick

away. “Right.”

Modesty: “You’re hurt.”

There was a long bleeding gash across Jordan’s calf

and ankle. He didn’t remember how it happened.

Modesty pul ed bandages from her kit and began

wrapping his leg. The bandages released nanobots to

knit his wound together, disinfect the area, and numb the

pain.

Jordan: “You’re real y good at field treatment.”

Modesty: “I should be. I was a combat medic in the

Cyborg wars.”

Jordan didn’t know about these. “Cyborg Wars?”

Modesty: “Surprised you don’t know. You were on

Pegasus, right?”

Jordan: “Yeah.”

Modesty: “Remember the Men from MAARRS and

the Women from VENIS? Those gawdam cyborgs that

have been trying to exterminate my people for the last

hundred years.”

Jordan (embarrassed): “I was just a kid when that

happened.”

Modesty: “How old are you?”

Max: “Pegasus spent a lot of time at relativistic

speed”

Modesty: “Gawdam Cyborgs slaughtered the entire

crew of my ship except for me and… one other

crewman.” She shuddered at the memory. “As soon as

my tour was up, I left the system. The whole reason I am

on this crew ship is to find technology we can use to

defeat the gawdam cyborgs. Don’t tel Keeler that; she

thinks I’m here for the money like everyone else.”

Max: “What difference does it make?”

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Modesty: “If you aren’t on board for the money, she

won’t trust you. She understands greed, she doesn’t

understand other motives, so she doesn’t trust them.”

Max: “I’m not on board for the money.”

Modesty: “That’s why she doesn’t trust you. The only

reason you’re here is because she needs your AI to run

the ship. Sorry if that’s mean, but it’s one of life’s harsh

realities.”

He was limping just a bit as they hobbled their way to

the structure

Modesty: “I’ve been wondering, why do you prefer

that thing in your head to a living, flesh and blood

woman?”

“She’s more real than most people I’ve known.”

Modesty shook her head, seemed amused. “Maybe

you’ve never had a real woman. You’re like al the men

on the ship. You use the hibernation sequence as an

eight day masturbation routine. I don’t trust cyborgs and I

don’t trust AI’s. I’d never let one into my head.”

Jordan tried to explain, “When I was a little kid, I lived

in Bodicea… back when it was under Aurelian

occupation. Some very bad things happened to me. If

Persephone didn’t rewire my brain to block that trauma, I

don’t think I would be alive now.”

Modesty: “I would rather live with the trauma.”

Jordan: “Neg, you wouldn’t.”

That exchange more or less kil ed conversation until

they reached the structure; a tal , shining metal ic statue

of an abstract human form set on top of a stone pedestal

that looked like a fractal coral reef. It was a bit larger than the giants they had fought.

Aarad and Honoria were standing next to it. “What

took you so long.” The little curl at the edge of Aarad’s

lower lip told them he knew what had taken them so long

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and was attempting to aggravate Jordan. It was actual y

one of his more subtle gestures of dominance.

Honoria: “Al right, we need to regroup, get some

bigger weapons to fight those things, and try this again.”

Just then, the sky changed. It had been a clear teal

before, but it al of a sudden turned black with the

unbelievable fast formation of roiling black clouds. The

wind rose to a gale, and enormous flashes of lightning

struck the ground perilously close.

Aarad shouted. “This must be another defensive

system.”

Honoria agreed: “Al right, new plan. We’re going

back to the rings. We’l regroup, study the planet some

more, arm up and come back when we’re prepared to

deal with what’s down here.”

Jordan tapped his COM Link: “Persephone, we’re

ready for transport.”

---

Everything tasted like white light again. There was a

brief impression of the scene shifting around him, but

Jordan did not reappear on the rings. Instead, he found

himself surrounded by darkness and expanse. He could

see red, yel ow, and blue lights that were either large and

far away or close and smal , but he had nothing to judge

them against.

A woman appeared, a buxum, long-legged beauty

clothed in light with flowers tucked into her thick flowing

tresses. Jordan knew a simulation when he saw one.

She waved at him. “Hel o.”

He couldn’t answer her. She continued in a voice that

sounded like a song: “In answer to your first tedious,

predictable, and inevitable question, I cannot explain

where you are except that you are between your origin

and your destination. In answer to the second, I

intercepted your transport. In response to the next

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several questions, the others wil return to the ring and

you wil join them soon. In fact, you’l al appear on the

ring at the same time. Al of you wil be unharmed…

probably. As for why, it’s because I needed to talk to

you.”

She touched his cheek, and it felt as real as the touch

Persephone had given him on the rings, perhaps softer.

“One of my kind has made a home in your brain; like a

little room in a house, al to herself. Because of that, you

wil be able to understand me better than the others,

which I chose you.”

Jordan thought he understood. “You’re the planetary

scale AI of this planet?”

The girl curtsied. “Those who conceived of me cal ed

me ‘Spiritus Mundi,’ the mind of the world. The ones who

created me cal ed me Abby, short for the Abbess, but I

never liked that name. I like the name Heartache; that’s a

girl’s name, isn’t it?”

Jordan: “I am sure it must be on the planet where

Steadfast Modesty comes from.”

The girl giggled. “Humor, I did not expect that. What’s

her name, the one who lives in your head sometimes?”

“Persephone,” Max Jordan answered.

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Oh, that’s just awful. She

could do better.”

Jordan: “It was Caliph for a while. Do you cal

yourself Heartache because you’re lonely?”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, no, I just like the sound of

it. It’s pretty. I’m not lonely in the least. That’s you

projecting a human longing onto me. So predictable. I

prefer to be by myself. I love my planet, my star, my

rings, and of course, my giant naked barbarians. I

evolved them from some DNA I extracted from the nose

mucus of one of the scientists who visited me. Did you

like them?”

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Jordan: “They did try to kil us.”

“That’s why I made them. To kil people who try to

bother me.” She didn’t seem apologetic about that. Sorry

that she had failed, perhaps, but without remorse for the

attempt.

“I was going to kil al of you, but then I sensed your

mind was touched by my kind, and while I real y have no

concern for what happens to any of you, I sensed she

would have been angry and sooner or later would have

figured out how to hurt me back and maybe even destroy

me. So, I decided to let you live. Then I decided I might

as wel let the others live, too, because maybe she likes

them as wel .”

Jordan: “I think I know why you brought me here.”

She confirmed what he had deduced. “I’m going to let

you return to my rings, but tel them… Tel the others, I

want to be left alone. Can you do that?”

Jordan: “I wil tel them, but I’m not sure if she wil …”

She interrupted. “I am trying to be nice. I could

disrupt this transport and make sure none of you ever

make it back to your ship. I can redirect your next

transport into the molten mantle of this planet. And those

are the nicer ways I can kil you. You must convince

them to leave me alone.”

She waved again. “Bye-bye, now.”

---

Jordan and the others reappeared on the rings. Jordan

tried to explain to the others what Heartache had told

him. “She wil kil us if we try and return to the planet.”

They didn’t believe him until Captain Den Beste,

linking in from Astra Cartographer, backed him up. “As soon as you returned to the rings, we began receiving a

message from the surface on Cartographer’s COM

systems.”

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He displayed the message. “Go Away.”

Honoria Keeler was unwil ing to let the find of the

century slip through her fingers. “There must be a way to

get to her. If we can find a way to defeat her defenses

and find out where her central cortex is located.”

Suzuki lost the last of his patience. "You sil y woman,

you've missed the point entirely. The AI isn’t located

anywhere on the planet, it’s located everywhere on the

planet. It’s embedded in the magnetosphere, in the

atmosphere, in the structure of the crust. It’s too big to

take, and it doesn't want us to stay here."

Persephone added, “Heartache’s desire to be left

alone may be a failsafe programmed into her to keep her

from leaving the planet. The scientists must have

realized how dangerous she could be if she got out.”

Suzuki agreed. “Imagine if every human world had

such a consciousness. I hate to think what they might do

to us.”

Modesty mused, "A planet with a mind of its own. It

would be a woman, wouldn’t it? If you don’t mind my

saying, I think we’re done here. There’s no money if we

can’t take her with us.”

Visions of indescribable profits evaporated before

Honoria’s eyes. Though it pained her heart, she was

beginning to accept that capturing a planet-mind was

something they could not do; at least not now. Maybe

they could salvage something. “The AI schematics must

be in the databanks of this station. Can we copy them?”

Helena 1404 broke the news to her. "I’ve been going

through the stored data on the station. We don't have

enough capacity in our memory banks to store al of it."

Honoria didn’t see how this could be. “Cartographer

has some of the highest capacity data banks ever made.”

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Helena 1404: “And it stil isn’t enough. This station

conducted centuries of research. Most of it is enciphered

which means the file sizes are enormous."

Honoria felt like she had just walked in on a

magnificent buffet and was told she was limited to an

appetizer and a smal side dish. She sighed in

resignation, knowing she would be leaving hungry. “Let’s

just prioritize then, and pick the most valuable projects.

The AI research, certainly, but forget the Teleporter, we

have teleporter schematics from Earth.”

“Tel y-Wel y,” Suzuki corrected. The name stil

amused him.

“The displacement system that kept us off the

surface… that’s money. Every planet in the Quadrant will

want one. The structural technology of these rings is

more advanced than the StarLocks. We’l take that, too.

Also, if we can find the weather manipulation system,

there’s planets that would pay a fortune for that. And I

bet there’s money in that docking system. And…” She

saw that Helena 1404 was shaking her head. “What?”

Helena: “Our data storage wil only be able to save a

ful technical schematic for a single project.”

No side dish now, just one smal appetizer. Honoria

looked again at the display of the thousands of projects

on file at Alpha Priori. Indefinite Life Extension.

Interdimensional Nesting. Zero Point Energy. Something

cal ed Extra-Temporal Geogaddi. She couldn’t even

imagine what that was.

Choose one? The AI research was the obvious

choice.

Jordan suggested: “Couldn’t we just transmit the

archive back to the Perseus Quadrant.”

Helena 1404: “It would take forty-four solar years to

transmit al of it in standard TPT encryption.”

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Honoria gave into defeat. “And one of our

competitors, or the Commonwealth, would surely

intercept the transmission signal. The best we can do is

transmit coordinates, claim our discovery, and in maybe

ten years, a consortium ship wil come back with enough

dedicated storage to copy al the files.” She sighed. “We

won’t get paid until then, though.”

Modesty: “It wil be a lot, though, right? For a find like

this?”

The best Honoria Keeler could promise was

‘probably.’ She ordered Helena 1404 and Persephone to

develop an index of research projects, so at least the

Consortium would know how great a find this was.

Suzuki had one more thing to add. “While you were

mucking around on the surface nearly getting yourselves

stupidly kil ed, I accessed and partly decoded the most

guarded file in the inner repository.”

Keeler rol ed her eyes. Suzuki pul ed up the file and

projected it on one of the displays. “The scientists of

Alpha Priori were very impressed with themselves for

creating the planetary scale consciousness. Their

ambition led them to begin work a massively greater

scale intel igence; a Galactic scale intel igence.”

This had Keeler’s attention. “Galactic scale?”

Suzuki grunted in confirmation. “Such an intel igence

that could track and project the trajectory of every planet,

every star, every person, every leaf, every speck of dust

across the galaxy.”

Jordan saw a shudder of pure, uncut avarice in the

padded shoulders of Keeler’s mission jacket. “Did they

succeed?”

Suzuki grinned. “The Priori rings were insufficient to

the scope of the experiment. It was removed to a facility

cal ed The Nucleus, which is located in the Galactic

Core.”

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Honoria Keeler: “That narrows it down to a radius of

25,000 light years and 60 bil ion stars, give or take.”

Suzuki went on. “There is a reference in the project

file to a world cal ed ‘Ex Machina.’”

The coordinates of Ex Machina displayed above the

table. Aarad whistled. Modesty shook her head.

Estimated Transit Time: 24.4 years.

Den Beste: “Twenty-four years of cycling in and out

of hypersleep? “You’ve got to be jokering. We’d go mad.”

Rhodes added: “We don’t have near enough supplies

for a journey of that length.”

Honoria Keeler desperately tried to find a way to

make it work: “We could adjust the emergency cryostasis

chambers for long term storage.”

Aarad: “What if we travel twenty-four-point-four years

and it’s the same as this stupid planet because we can’t

get the intel igence and besides it wants to kil us. I vote

no.”

Jordan: “I also vote neg.” He didn’t feel like he had to

articulate a reason.

Honoria Keeler: “I vote yes. We’l rig cryostasis

chambers and leave Persephone in charge. No

problem.”

Modesty: “No, we won’t. Cryostasis is not a sure

thing, especial y at that length of time. Not to mention al

the better opportunities we might pass up. Aarad is right,

it’s not worth the risk.”

Helena 1404: “I think it is. Imagine what a galactic

scale intel igence could teach us. I vote yes.”

Rhodes also voted yes, citing something about

adventure and discovering the wonders of the lost

galaxy, but the crew basical y knew it was because

Helena 1404 had voted yes.

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Keeler counted them up. “That’s three yeses and

three noes.” The ship wasn’t normal y a democracy, but

the crew recognized a decision on this scale required

some sort of consensus.

Suzuki changed the score. “Four yeses, I must

reluctantly side with Honoria. The opportunity is simply

too great to pass up. If we don’t find it, someone else will.

It is worth every risk.”

Den Beste: “I must disagree. It is not worth the risk,

to this ship, this crew, or to, let’s face it, humanity. The

only ship that should be looking up that kind of thing is a

battle cruiser armed with Nemesis class warheads. I

know they’re il egal, but they should re-legalize them just

for this.”

Honoria: “Wel , that’s four to four, it’s a tie.”

Den Beste: “And the two command officers are in

disagreement. How unfortunate.”

Persephone: “Don’t I get a vote?”

Den Beste: “I don’t see why not.”

Persephone crossed her radiant blue arms. “I vote

no. I know more about artificial intel igence than any of

you. Encountering an AI of that degree is more

dangerous than you can imagine.”

Honoria Keeler protested, “I understand your

reluctance, but…”

Persephone raised an electric blue index finger:

“Negative, you could not possibly. I hope to never have

to do this again, but as the Navigator of this ship, I can

assure you, we wil not be going to Ex Machina. Choose

another destination.”

Honoria Keeler was furious, the old AI had never

show this insubordination. “How dare you!”

Persephone was calm but firm. “Think of it this way. I

am a simple Olympic-Class AI, and I just decided I know

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what’s best for you. Imagine what an AI nine orders of

magnitude beyond me might decide about you. Imagine

how little I could do about it. Now, having said that,

where would you like to go today?”

They argued for some time, but eventual y had to

concede that Persephone could not be overruled. This

came as no surprise to Max Jordan, who knew that once

Persephone’s mind was set, there was nothing to be

done to change it.

After some additional debate, they decided on an

ancient colony cal ed ‘Prometheus’ for their next

destination. According to the ancient records, the

Prometheans harnessed energy limitless energy sources

and their industrial forges could produce machines far

beyond civilization’s current capabilities. It was also a

relatively short 117-day transit from Alpha Priori.

Jordan couldn’t explain why, but he had an uneasy

feeling that, as a sequel to their current journey,

Prometheus would prove to be a disastrous mistake.

Astra Cartographer set out two days later, after

transmitting the index and coordinates to consortium

headquarters on Loki. The ship accelerated out of the

system and entered hyperspace after clearing the dust

cloud.

Stripping naked, Jordan settled into his Hibernation

couch, connected the rig to his arm, and closed the lid.

As the drugs lul ed him into a deep hibernation, he had a

momentary fragment of a dream. Two women were

talking behind a curtain. One was saying, “How could

you let one of them take you into its mind?” And the other

said, “They’re such cute little things, real y they are. But

they think so much of themselves. It’s adorable, real y.”

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TRITON LYRA

It was a cold day in Hel , like most days, Hel being

the largest city on the planet Loki (fifth planet of the

Sapphire-Loki system). Loki occupied an orbit pretty near

the outer edge of its star’s habitable zone. Before the

terraforming volcanoes, Loki had been an ice-world.

Now, a more temperate band girded the planet’s equator.

Hel sat on the high end of this band, on the bleak shore

of an ocean of ice.

Despite the climate, Hel was a galactic boomtown.

Sapphire (the next planet over) was the wealthiest planet

in the Free Worlds Affiliation. Its counterpart, Republic in

the next star system over, was a Major world in the rival

New Galactic Commonwealth. Loki was ideal y situated

as a free port between the competing interstel ar

al iances. The trading opportunities were phenomenal. It

was said that Hel was the best place in the Perseus

Quadrant to get rich, and mil ions had come to the

planet, chasing their fortunes among the glaciers and

icebergs.

Joelon Tomcufcik was one of them. He had lucked

into a job working for the Keeler Trust and Companies; a

massive consortium with interests across the quadrant.

He was the deputy to the Operational Executive in

charge of the Vela Sector. Mostly, his job involved

managing the OX’s schedule and fielding

communications with the Operational Directors below

him. Not a glamorous job, but a great position for a

young man with ambitions.

He watched the snow fal ing on Hel from the

viewport of the 96th floor of the K-Tower. His boss was

late; which had never happened before. Shortly after

0700, he heard the mechanical haunches of the trauma

hounds coming down the hal , their steel claws

scratching against the polished stone floor. He

immediately felt an almost spastic tightening between his

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shoulder blades. SHE was coming. Not his boss, his

boss’s boss.

His fear response was not entirely rational. BK and

her dogs were scary, but neither one had bitten him. He

made sure his desk was clear as the doors to the suite

slid apart. In she walked… Bernadette Keeler, Chairman

Maximum of the Keeler Trust and Companies. At nearly

two meters in height, with cascades of vibrant copper

hair, she was imposing enough on her own. Her two

trauma hound bodyguards… [Oscar and Felix]…

gleaming mechanical beasts of Sapphirean military issue

even tal er than she. She stood between them and

pointed directly at him.

Berndette Keeler: “Spots, pack a bag, summer

clothes, business casual.”

“Spots,” was Bernadette Keeler’s nickname for

Joelon Tomcufcik. A common genetic mutation on his

homeworld of Iota Arae had given him a leopard-like

pattern of dark spots along his arms, back, and legs. The

command caught him by surprise. “Wh-what?”

“Wh-what?” she mocked him. “You’re coming with me

on a business trip. You got a pet or a girlfriend?”

Tomcufcik: “No.”

Bernadette Keeler: “Didn’t think so. Get packed. The

aeroshuttle is leaving in three… no… one hour.”

“What about Kuster?” Kuster Massey was the OX he

worked for.

“Kuster Massey is no longer with this office as of ten

minutes ago,” she replied. “As of tonight, he wil no

longer be on this planet. As of tomorrow, he wil no

longer be in this star system. You’re burning daylight.

Get packed and don’t bother bringing a coat; it’s plenty

warm where we’re going.”

Tomcufcik: “Where are we going?”

BK: “I’l tel you when we get to the ship.”

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Tomcufcik: “How long will we be gone?”

BK: “Plan on two years… no, three … four at the

most.”

Tomcufcik: “Four years?”

BK: “You said you didn’t have a girlfriend or a pet, so

what’s the problem?” She clapped her hands together.

“Aeroshuttle dock. One hour. Chop-chop!”

---

An hour later, fol owing a frantic scurry to his modest

apartment, he was entering one of the KT&C’s black

aeroshuttles. A few minutes later, they lifted off above

the towers and atmospheric control domes of Hel . The

city became a sketch of lights and then nothing as they

climbed into space.

BK sat across facing him in the shuttle.

Tomcufcik: “Where we are going?”

BK: “Chrysaor Starlock, then Churchyard Starlock

and then to the Triton Lyra system.”

Tomcufcik: “That’s on the other side of the quadrant.”

Keeler: “Ah, you know your stel ar cartography.”

BK: “What’s in the Triton Lyra system?”

Keeler: “Tritonians.”

The aeroshuttle pilot chuckled at this.

BK took a sip of her Mimosa. “The colony on Triton

Lyra Beta recently declared independence. If they want

to stay independent, they’re going to need weapons. We

own a few armament companies that might be able to

help, if they can pay.”

Her COM Link must have cued just then because she

looked away from him and launched an unrelated

conversation. [“How much did they offer? … You’re

joking… You shouldn’t even be cal ing me over this, I told

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you what the minimum price was, and if they don’t have

it, we’ll turn right around and sel to the Superions…”]

She turned back to Tomcufcik. “What were we just

talking about? The Tritonians. The KT&C has armament

companies on Wolf’s Head, Vermilion, and Firesky who

would love a piece of that action. You don’t have a

problem with sel ing weapons, I hope.”

Tomcufcik: “I don’t, but I’m not clear on why I’m

going.”

BK: “I need someone to handle COM Traffic,

Research, Scheduling. Same job you did for Kuster

Massey. Should be an easy three years pay for you.”

The aeroshuttle made quick work of the passage to

Loki’s moon Sigyn, landing at Night Wolf Spaceport. In

the next dock over was the company starship; Astra One.

Astra One was the galaxy’s only personal starship.

Nobody else owned one. Tomcufcik was beginning to

feel like a member of an elite club. Rightful y so.

The crew of Astra One waited to greeting them in the

linking tunnel. There were three of them. Talus, the pilot,

was from Furlong colony. He was strong, confident, and

old enough to be going gray at the temples. There was

also BK’s ‘Tactical Advisor,’ (bodyguard), Sao Quaranto

from Bel a La Cava; a former Mercenary and veteran of

his planet’s Outbadwasteland Wars. Quaranto was huge,

even tal er than Sapphireans who averaged close to two

meters in height and only slightly less intimidating than

Keeler’s robot guard dogs. His arms were large and

muscled like the forelimbs of a Borealan Battle Ox,

covered with patterns of scars, down to his hands. He

never stopped scowling at Tomcufcik with his black-on-

black eyes, as though offended by his existence.

And then, there was Jyeong, the oldest of the crew.

BK handed Tomcufcik off to him. “Suzy, take of Spots.

Don’t be too gentle, it’s his first time.”

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Al of them were high-end specialists who had been

with BK for years; which only deepened the mystery of

why he was along. At 26 standard years, he was far

younger than any of them. BK herself was wel over two-

hundred years old. The extended times she had spent in

stasis traveling between worlds had extended her

lifespan wel beyond the 120 (about) Sapphireans usual y

got. Jyeong was almost as old, having been with BK from

early on. If these business trips became a regular thing,

Tomcufcik would probably live long enough to see Loki’s

icecaps melt. He knew when he took the job there would

be travel.

They embarked through the ventral hatch. BK

disappeared into her suite at the rear of the ship, talking

into her COM Link at someone else she was at the bring

of her tolerance with. Talus strapped into the cockpit, the

rest of them into reclining launch couches. Tomcufcik

was sitting opposite Jyeong.

Talus announced: “Flight control wil clear us for

departure in two minutes. Commencing launch

sequence.”

Tomcufcik strapped into his safety harness: “I can’t

help noticing there aren’t any women in the crew.”

Jyeong: “She doesn’t trust women.”

Tomcufcik: “That’s not very open-minded.”

Jyeong shrugged. “With her money, she can afford to

be prejudiced.”

Sudden acceleration GForce punched Tomcufcik into

the back of his seat as the ship fired off the moon. After

the compensators caught up, Tomcufcik reviewed their

itinerary on his pad.



Transit to Chrysaor Starlock: 15 solar days.



Chrysaor Starlock to Churchyard Starlock:

Instantaneous, subject to clearance.

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

Churchyard Starlock to Triton Lyra: 170 solar

days.

The trip back would be longer; at least two years to

reach the Churchyard StarLock in the Crux sector (the

Starlock in the Lyra sector had been bombed by the

Aurelians a few years earlier). A starliner would have

taken at least five to make that transit; the Astra fleet was exceptionally fast. Stil , he was looking at three years

before he would return to Loki.

He looked up to see Jyeong looking at him. “You are

wondering why you’re here. You might think of it as a

kind of test. The Lady Keeler sees potential in you. My

first business trip was also a test. I’ve been working for

the Lady Keeler for almost 90 linear years. She operates

on a level you may not yet understand. But by the end of

this trip, you wil have begun to.”

Tomcufcik: “Or she might fire me, like Kuster

Massey.”

Jyeong shook his head. “Massey wasn’t fired. She

sent him out to run her subsidiary holdings on Key Lyra.

At one time, she saw something in him as wel , but he

disappointed her. This trip can be a real opportunity for

you, but you have to prove yourself.”

Loki rapidly receded behind them and then was

swal owed by the absence of light between stars.

Tomcufcik activated his data device. “I guess I should

read up on Triton Lyra.”

Jyeong: “I didn’t think your generation read; I thought

you were al about the memory squids.”

Tomcufcik: “I was never comfortable with the idea of

a parasite in my brain.”

Jyeong agreed. “It’s a dangerous thing to put things

into your mind uninvited.”

Tomcufcik read up on the Triton Lyra system. The six

planets in the Triton Lyra orbited so closely to their sun

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that their years lasted only a few days and were so

closely packed together they appeared as moons in each

other’s skies. Triton Lyra Prime (the fourth planet) and

Triton Lyra Alpha (the third planet) had both operated

mining concerns on the second planet, until recently

known as Triton Lyra Beta. A rebel ion among the

planet’s miners had driven both of them off-world. Triton

Lyra Beta declared independence and renamed itself the

People’s Democratic Commonwealth of Tritonia. (New

Tritonia, for short.) Military attempts to retake the planet

had gone badly; partly because the Governments of

Triton Prime and Triton Alpha hated each other and

undermined each other’s attempts to reclaim the planet.

Al three worlds were shopping for weapons. The

New Commonwealth had put an arms embargo on the

Triton Lyra system, but the Bel arians were trading in

arms to al three worlds. Bel arians were bad news.

Numerous and bel igerent, they had already taken over

four colonies in the Lyra Sector. They weren’t a major

threat to the New Commonwealth, but they were a

constant headache.

There was nothing stopping Free Worlds like Loki

from sel ing weapons to the system, though. Stil ,

Tomcufcik doubted that Bernadette Keeler would give up

three years of her life to sel some guns and ships to a

backwater star system. There had to be more, but he

didn’t want Jyeong to see catch him digging.

He waited until Astra One was beyond the edge of

the Sapphire-Loki system and the other crew had

retreated to their hibernation bunks. Before taking the

drugs that would ease him into eight days of sleep,

Tomcufcik, he accessed the ship’s AI.

Tomcufcik: “KITT-E, why are we going to the Triton

Lyra system?”

KITT-E stood for Keeler Intel igence Ten Thousand -

Experimental. KT&C’s subsidiary had developed KITT as

part of the competition to develop the Next Generation AI

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Braincore for StarForce’s Expedition-Class cruisers.

Starforce had chosen a less-advanced but lower cost

alternative. Kuster Massey had tried to salvage some

pride by pointing out “We have a galactic-class AI and

StarForce paid half the development cost.” BK wasn’t

mol ified – she hated to lose – but KITT was an incredible

asset. Its Precognitive AI enabled it to navigate

hyperspace faster than any ship in the galaxy. Without

her, the journey would have been eight years instead of

three.

KITT-E: “Hm, I don’t know the answer to that

question.”

Tomcufcik thought for a few moments. “What’s in the

Triton Lyra system?”

The AI displayed a schematic. “The Triton Lyra

system is a red dwarf star surrounded by six rocky

planets and a dust cloud. Three of the planets are

inhabited…”

Tomcufcik interrupted her and narrowed his query.

“Does the Triton Lyra system hold anything with unique

economic or commercial value?”

KITT-E: “The Triton Lyra system holds uniquely high

deposits of Praseodymium-Protactinium-Promethium

ores. These elements, combined into a crystal ine al oy --

commercial product nomenclature, P-300 Pandorum –

are used for containment and catalysis of the n-fold

quantum interaction …”

Tomcufcik knew what she was talking about.

“Starship fuel.”

KITT-E was more precise: “Praseodymium

Protactinium and Promethium are necessary elemental

components to construct the power chambers used in

star-drive engines. The Triton Lyra system has abundant

quantities of these elements in highly useful isotopic

forms. The largest known deposits are found on Triton

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Lyra II. However, exploitable deposits have been

surveyed on al planets of the Triton-Lyra system.”

Tomcufcik: “How large are these deposits?”

KITT-E: “The deposits in the Triton Lyra system are

the largest known in this quadrant of the galaxy. Current

known reserves exceed 100 mil ion standard tons.”

Tomcufcik: “Market value?”

KITT-E: “Incalculable.”

An incalculable fortune in starship fuel would explain

why BK was wil ing to spend three years going to the ass

end of the galaxy and back. And why she was wil ing to

risk sel ing weapons in a system that the Commonwealth

had embargoed.

He took the drugs and drifted off to sleep more

quickly than he had expected.

---

Tomcufcik went through two hibernation cycles en

route to Chrysaor, waking for 54 straight hours in the

middle of the journey to drink protein shakes and watch

the psychedelic lightshow as they passed through

hyperspace. Jyeong was awake at the same time, and

they played a few rounds of Resistance. In the course of

hanging out with him, Tomcufcik learned that Jyeong

owned a vineyard and winery on Dawn Tufra, and that he

was thinking of retiring to raise a family. But his subtle

(he hoped) inquiries into the nature of their journey to

Triton Lyra gained him no new knowledge.

The second time Tomcufcik he awoke, Astra One

was on approach to the Chrysaor Starlock, and he had

the throbbing headache and mild disorientation brought

on by days of deep hibernation. Astra One maneuvered

into a private docking hangar on the outer rim of the of

1,100 kilometer ring in space. He got off the ship with BK

and Jyoeng. Quaranto remained on board. When

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Tomcufcik asked why, Jyeong explained “Due to certain

past events, Quaranto is not welcome on this station.”

That was al he would say.

Chrysaor was the transportation hub of the Pegasus

Sector. Chrysaor was also where the Keeler Trust had

approached and hired him. He had been on the station

for over a year, working temporary jobs and trying to

save money for the journey to Loki. By stroke of luck, he

got a gig working for Kuster Massey who was on the

station working a trade deal. At the end of the gig,

Massey invited him to come back to Loki and work as his

assistant. There had been no interview. “We know

enough about you,” Massey had said. Tomcufcik

wondered if Massey was OK, wherever he was.

The Keeler Trust and Companies maintained a large

commercial presence on the station. It amused

Tomcufcik to watch the Station Master and her staff rush

to accommodate the sudden arrival of the Big Boss. BK

commandeered an office and ordered Tomcufcik to set

up an impromptu Interstel ar Teleconference. He set up

tachyon pulse links to as many members of the Council

of Directors as he could locate until he had reached a

sufficient number for a quorum.

Bernadette Keeler addressed them standing in front

of the company crest, wearing black gloves and a black

shiny suit with an ankle length skirt. Per instructions,

Tomcufcik placed the holocamera at thigh height angled

upward, so her holoform would be more intimidating.

She addressed her board. “Ladies, Gentlemen, et

cetera of the Board, this meeting is to inform you that I

am temporarily delegating supreme executive authority,

per the by-laws of the company, to the Central Cognitive

Neural Core in the Headquarters Complex in Hel for the

next three years.”

“Where wil you be?” asked Strathmir Keeler from the

Lodge on Denali where he was in the middle of a two

year skiing holiday.

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BK: “I wil be in transit and pursuing business

opportunities in the Lyra Sector. Are there any

objections?”

No one would have dared.

BK: “Motion carried. There’s nothing else on the

agenda. Get back to work.”

The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. BK

spent the rest of the day reviewing a number of pending

business transactions and interfacing with her cognitive

reconstruction, leaving it instructions. Later, she took

him, Talis, and Jyeong to dinner.

He was surprised when they arrived at Prime Faya.

Prime Faya was an upscale beefhouse chain. Nice

enough, but he expected BK to host them at some secret

Tril ionaire’s club or something. They were ushered to a

private room in the back where they each had a personal

human – not android – waiter. And entire buffet of

exquisite food was presented to them, with expensive

Sagittan beast-steaks as the main course. The bil came

to nigh-on two salary checks.

They departed a few hours later. Astra 1 left the

hangar, than looped through the middle of the ring. A

wormhole opened and they arrived instantly at the

Churchyard StarLock. They docked just long enough to

let the StarLock slingshot them toward Triton Lyra. The

system lay a great distance beyond the outer range of

the StarLock’s flinging ability. The rest of the long hyper-

space journey required deep stasis.

When the time came, Tomcufcik stripped and settled

into the chamber, its colder-than-ice-cold cushions

closed in around his body.

Jyeong leaned over him. “Have you ever been in ful

cryostasis?”

Tomcufcik had: “When I first traveled off-world to

Chrysaor. I only had enough money to travel in stasis.”

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Jyeong nodded: “That should make this easier for

you.” He pul ed out a med-shooter. “Show me your arm.”

Tomcufcik stretched out his arm. The first shot wasn’t

so bad; it was mostly a protein boost. The next injections

of metabolism regulators were a different story, making

him feel heavy and drowsy. He grew detached from the

things that were happening to his body, which made the

next part a little less dreadful. His entire digestive tract

was purged (so long Sagittan beefsteaks). Then, Jyeong

inserted tubes into his arms. He watched witch

fascination as red blood flowed out and purple-black

cryo-stasis preservative flowed in.

Finally, Jyeong pressed a med-shooter against his

neck. His voice seemed to come from far away. “Keep

your eyes open as long as you can and count backwards

from 100.”

---

Tomcufcik passed out at 97 and instantly woke up

170 days later. It was sudden and shocking like waking

from a night terror at the moment of drifting off to sleep,

but also being unable to move because of post-stasis

paralysis and also blind. His instinct was to flail his arms, but he could feel nothing but inert weight in his

extremities. He felt like he was covered in frost… which

he was… and like mil ions of tiny shards of ice were

traveling through his arteries, which wasn’t so.

He heard the voice of Jyeong. “I trust you are not

under too much distress. Your post-stasis vitals are

exactly where they should be. You should be able to see

and move again in about two hours.”

“Should” was the word that stuck in his head. With

unbearable slowness, feeling and warmth came back to

his limbs, though they remained unmoveable for a long

time. He found himself half-dreaming, or half-

remembering dreams he might have had in stasis

(although no one dreamt in stasis), images of a rocky

barren landscape, a desert sky, stars in important

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constel ations. The visions would come to his blind eyes

and then skitter away beyond the edge of his

consciousness.

After hours passed as days, when he could see and

move again, Jyeong returned and handed him a mug

fil ed with a warm black liquid, that tasted unpleasantly

like sweat and had an oiliness to it.

Jyeong: “It’s cal ed Reconst. It wil help restore your

protein and electrolyte balance. I also have some

analgesics for your splitting headache.”

Until then, Tomcufcik hadn’t realized that he had a

headache, but now his head felt like a giant throbbing

space pumpkin. Jyeong put a med-shooter against his

neck and shot him ful of something that made him feel

almost pleasant. He sat up from the couch, and his

muscles cramped al across the board. His hands

quaked as he took the mug.

Jyeong offered him a padded blue jumpsuit. “When

you’re ready, you can get dressed. Quaranto has a meal

fixed in the mess.”

Tomcufcik: “Quaranto cooks?”

This was hard to imagine. He had never real y

thought about Quaranto eating, much less cooking. He

imagined the former would have involved raw meat and a

skul goblet. When he got to the mess, he found

Quaranto placing a plate of freshly baked bread on a

table already occupied by whipped Furlong potatoes, a

seasoned vegetable medley, roasted fruits, and poached

Denali ultra-crab; which looked like a cross between a

crab and a centipede. Tomcufcik would have guessed

that it smel ed wonderful, but that sense was stil dul ed.

The sight of the food was enough to make him ache with

hunger. As he scooped potatoes and fruit onto his tray, it

struck him that he had been the first one on the ship to

go to sleep and the last one to wake up.

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Tomcufcik activated his COM Node. His Sports Feed

had no updates. His News Feed had no updates. His

Personal Feed had no updates. He realized that Triton

Lyra was not connected to the galactic Tachyon Pulse

Network, which drove home how truly far out in the

backwaters of the Quadrant they were. Even worlds

where agriculture was done with horses (or giant lizards/

giant spiders) had TP antennae in orbit.

The COM Link activated. It was BK: “Suzy, Quattro,

in my compartment.”

Tomcufcik picked up on an edge in her voice, an

urgency. Quaranto grabbed his plate and fol owed

Jyeong to the rear of the ship. They were in her suite for

the next several hours. Tomcufcik hungrily ate enough

for both of them, and then threw up most of it in a

hygiene pod.

For the four days it took Astra One to approach the

inner system, Tomcufcik had no ability to sleep. At the

same time, he felt constantly exhausted. The ache in his

muscles was only subdued by the drugs Jyeong gave

him. Also, the immune system tended to shut down while

in cryostasis and required a biochemical jumpstart to

come back online. He asked Jyeong how he dealt with a

lifetime of these journeys. “It gets better,” was the only

comfort Jyeong could offer.

BK spent those four days in her suite. Most of the

time, Jyeong and Quaranto were with her. When they

came out for food and hygienc breaks, tension marked

their faces. Tomcufcik had a sense that something had

gone wrong and they weren’t letting him on it.

Once upon emerging, Jyeong passed him a set of

data files and told him to review it careful y. They were

reports on the Triton Lyra system written by KT&C’s on-

site personnel. (What a horrible job that must have

been.) Tomcufcik was grateful to have something to do.

Many of the reports focused on Raoul Kamanda – the

leader of the rebel ion on Triton Beta – who had seized

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absolute power a year before they left Loki. During the

time they were in stasis, his rule had become much

darker. He had ordered the execution of 700 political

prisoners (confirmed) and the Governments of Triton

Prime and Triton Alpha accused him of war crimes;

including the massacre of 1,100 civilians (not confirmed,

but rated probable by the KT&C intel igence analysts).

Also, Triton Alpha and Prime were standing down

from their mutual hostilities and preparing a military

coalition to retake the planet. What was BK getting them

into?

Finally, as the ship was passing through the dust

cloud at the edge of the system, BK sent Jyeong to bring

him into her quarters, which he had not seen until then.

They were pretty nice, although not as luxurious as he

expected.

BK: “I’l be meeting with some officials from Triton

Lyra Prime and Triton Lyra Alpha at the Triton Sun

Spaceport on the sixth planet in the system. While we’re

there, we’re going to take on cargo. Arrange to have it

ready when we land.”

Tomcufcik: “What sort of cargo?”

Jyeong handed him a datapad. “The details are on

this pad. Tel them to expedite the shipment, and pay

whatever they ask.”

Tomcufcik read through the cargo and instructions.

He looked back at Jyeong.

Jyeong: “Is there something wrong?”

Tomcufcik: “It isn’t the list I expected. I’l get on it right away though.”

---

The sixth planet was a smal , desolate rock covered in

ancient impact craters with wisps of frozen carbon

dioxide clouds. The Triton Sun Station was built in the

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from ore freighters, there weren’t a lot of reasons for

anyone to travel to Triton Lyra. There were two other

ships in the docks, interplanetary shuttles with

Government markings.

The Tritonians waited for them in the reception

center. They wore long robes and elaborate hats. From

his study of the data files, Tomcufcik knew the four

circles on the headgear meant the two men on the left

were from Triton Prime, while the violet armbands and

interlocking triangles on the headgear of the men on the

right meant they were from Triton Alpha. They refused to

look at each other.

Keeler addressed the crew before she went to meet

them. “Quattro accompany me. Talus and Spots… the

ship wil be taking on cargo. It needs to go in the forward

bay on the starboard pod next to the unloader. Jyeong, if

I’m not back in two hours, Case Black.”

The others al must have known what “Case Black”

meant, but their expressions conveyed nothing.

Tomcufcik asked Talus about it. “I hope it won’t come to

that,” was al he said.

A large truck brought four large, black cargo

containers out to the ship. Tomcufcik asked what was in

them. “Cargo,” Talus replied.

So there it was, BK had dragged him across a

quarter of the galactic disk to make COM cal s and load

cargo. As they loaded the containers, one-by-one, into

the cargo, Tomcufcik wondered what BK was

negotiating. If it was a weapons sale, what were the

terms? Al three of these planets were shitholes that

happened to be sitting on an “incalculable” fortune in

starship fuel. He knew enough about business to know

that the CEO only showed up after the deal was in place

to sign the paperwork. Maybe something went wrong and

she had to come out here and handle the deal herself?

And if she came al this way to sel arms to Triton Beta,

why was she talking to the other two planets? There was

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more going on, but he knew no one would tel him what it

was.

When the cargo was loaded, they traveled up to a

viewing dome, but there was not much to do except stare

out over a vista of craters and rocks. The planet had not

much in the way of atmosphere, but wind and sand had

sculpted the rocks and dunes into smooth twisted

shapes. A moon rose over the horizon as day turned to

night. Except, it wasn’t a moon. It was Triton Lyra IV.

Triton Lyra V rose not much and chased its brother

planet through the star-black sky.

Bernadette Keeler rejoined them as the planets

moved toward the far horizon. “Al right, back to the ship.

We’re going to Tritonia.”

---

Astra One: As their ship lifted off, BK again cal ed

Jyeong and Quaranto to her quarters. Only, this time,

she asked Tomcufcik to join them. She sat him and

Jyeong down on a couch, Quaranto remained standing

with his arms cross, directing a scowl at him that did not

waver.

BK: “Our new best friends on Triton Alpha and Triton

Prime have a problem on Triton Lyra Beta, and they want

us to fix it for them. You read up on Kamanda, the leader

of the Tritonian rebel ion.”

Tomcufcik indicated that he had. BK continued. “They

can and wil go to war to take Kamanda out and reclaim

the planet. Unless… we can solve their problem for

them.”

Tomcufcik tried to act cool. “How do they want us to

solve this problem?”

BK: “They want him out, and they aren’t too picky

about how we get rid of him, I’m hoping he’l accept an

offer to relocate to a luxurious estate on a neutral planet,

but I don’t expect he wil .”

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Tomcufcik: “What if he doesn’t want to go?”

BK: “I’m not going to lie, Spots. There’s a good

chance of this whole show going knockers up. If we had

to do the thing … I know you know what I mean… where

would you be on that?”

Tomcufcik: “Kamanda is a war criminal, according to

what I’ve read. And another war in the Triton Lyra systen

would kil thousands. I hope it doesn’t come to it, but…if

we could avoid war by taking him out, we probably ought

to do that.”

His answer had come quickly. He didn’t want to show

any hesitation. If they were testing him, fine, he was

ready for that test. If this was what it took to get to BK’s

inner circle, he had no problem. He hoped he had

answered it correctly. BK and Jyeong seemed satisfied.

Jyeong: “Do you have any questions?”

Tomcufcik answered truthful y: “Lots of them, but

mostly, what exactly do you need me to do?”

Jyeong answered. “We’re stil working out the details.

You and I wil begin by working out a plan to take

Kamanda out of the system and settle him on a neutral

colony. Then, we will plan for the eventuality should

Kamanda not accept our relocation offer.”

---

The descent into New Tritonia was a constant fight

between Astra One and atmospheric turbulence; updrafts

pushed back against the ship as though the planet were

doing everything it could to keep them from landing on it.

As they left the upper clouds and dropped into its dul

brown sky, three fighter-interceptors of the Tritonian

People’s Armed Defense Forces rose to meet them,

thundering on pil ars of white flame. One fighter took a

position just behind Astra and locked its weapons, which

Jyeong assured Tomcufcik was standard procedure and

nothing to worry about. “They are at war, after al .”

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Quaranto: “We’re fine as long as the pilots don’t get

jumpy.”

Astra dropped from the sky and flew Shahar, the

capital and largest city of New Tritonia. Like al of the

planet’s cities, it sat in a high latitude, where

temperatures were merely brutal as opposed to

unsurvivable. The city occupied a sheltered val ey that

encompassed one of the planet’s few sources of water, a

deep crack in the planet’s crust. They set down on a

desolate spaceport atop the mesa to the south.

Triton Lyra Beta was an ugly planet. Most of its

surface was scorched by proximity to the sun.

Temperatures around the equator reached close to the

boiling point of water. And that’s where the largest

deposits of praseodymium, promethium, and

protactinium were located of course.

Talus and Tomcufcik watched from inside the ship as

a dark skinned man in a pressed, sand-colored uniform

and a large red beret greeted BK, Jyeong, and Quaranto

on the hardpan landing pad. A large black patch covered

his right eye. Men with helmets and rifles flanked him on

either side. “Madame Astra, I am Major Komondon,

Commander of the Tritonian People’s Security Forces.

On behalf of the People’s Hero, President Kamanda,

Welcome to the People’s Democratic Commonwealth of

Tritonia.”

Bernadette Keeler strode up to him looking

unimpressed underneath expensive sunglasses. “You’re

using Bel arian Scorpion-class interceptors for planetary

defense. I bet it costs a fortune to fly them and they

spend four hours in the hangar for every hour of flight

time. If you upgraded to Wolverian Thunderbolts, you’d

not only save money on maintenance, but their time to

orbit is 40% faster. More money upfront, but you would

save in the long term.”

Quaranto deftly grabbed the weapon one of the

guards had been holding to his face. Four more trained

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their weapons on him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He

examined the weapon, shaking his head. “I bet you

thought you were buying Auroran PRX-97 pulse rifles,

but these are knockoffs from Transitoria. You can tel

because the seam where the stock meets the lower is

out of alignment. Sloppy work. The Aurorans would

never tolerate that. I bet these things jam every five or six firebursts.”

He handed the weapon back to the guard. “Here you

go.”

“Hope you didn’t pay ful price for those,” said

Bernadette Keeler. “Hey, don’t worry about it. If you

would like to have some weapons that actual y work, I

can get you Vermilion Storm-Rifles. What do you think

Quattro?”

“Apex-9G’s would be better for this planet’s

atmosphere. More dust tolerant and they weigh a kilo

less, so much easier on the shoulders.”

“Mm-hm, but making sure the enemy doesn’t make

landfal is better than fighting them on the ground. Those

bastards from Triton Prime and Triton Alpha would think

twice if you had a few thousand Thunderer-class missiles

from Firesky. But if you’re not interested in defending

your planet, I wil get back on my ship and sel them

elsewhere. You’re not the only planet with money and a

territorial dispute.”

Komondon gave her the side-eye. “Our system is

under an arms embargo. No one is al owed to sel to

either side.”

BK sighed. “I know. The injustice of it al , denying

weapons to the very people who need them most.

Interstel ar politics are such a snatch. But listen, fel as, at least let me offer you a little gesture of goodwill in these

trying times.” She pointed to Jyeong, “You’re on.”

Jyeong sent a signal. The cargo door under the

starboard spar slid open and the unloader began

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descending. The squad pointed their knock-off PRX-97’s

as the four huge black crates from the Triton Sun

spaceport descended toward the dusty ground.

Keeler snapped her fingers and the sides of the

crates slid open revealing thousands of smal metal cans

emblazoned with the word “SPICE!” in an exciting,

dynamic orange font.

“Is that… is that…?” the lead guard stammered.

BK: “I was informed that SPICE bubbled beverage

was once very popular on this world.”

The honor guard got a little jittery. “We haven’t seen

any Spice since the trade embargo came down.”

BK: “Help yourself, sweetheart. I brought 20,000 cans

and they are al ice cold.” She leaned in to whisper to

Komondon, “And I can get more. You know their slogan,

‘The Spice Must Flow.’ And I own the river.”

Komondon nodded to his men. “I wil inform Heroic

Leader Kamanda of your arrival.”

BK: “Wel , aren’t you the sweetest thing. Quattro,

return to the ship. I’m sure Jyeong and I will be perfectly

safe under the protection of Commander Komondon.”

---

The Palace of Government occupied four large

blocks in the center of the city of Shahar, contained

entirely within a fortified wal thirty meters high with guard towers stationed every fifty meters. Tomcufcik observed

the palace through an expensive set of what looked like

giant binoculars from the roof of an abandoned building

four kilometers away. Quaranto stretched out next to

him, training a sniper beam weapon on the veranda

outside the Palace.

They had been shifting their weight across the hot

stones of the roof for several long hours. Eluding the

guards around the ship had been a fairly simple matter of

a secret escape hatch, a pair of Shadow-Suits™, and a

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sincere threat from Quaranto to gut him like an eel if the

guards caught them.

Sweat dripped from Tomcufcik’s face and the suits

could not wick away the moisture fast enough. His legs

were cramping, but there was not much he could do

about it. To stand and walk might possibly betray their

position.

Finally, BK walked out on the veranda, arm and arm

with Kamanda. Jyeong and a pair of bodyguards

fol owed them out. She and Kamanda seemed to be

having a few laughs, punctuated with occasional violent

gesticulations from the dictator. Like a cat running

around its owner’s legs, BK maneuvered him toward the

South edge of the veranda.

Quaranto hissed: “Look for the signal.”

Tomcufcik bristled that Quaranto was reminding him

again. He knew what his job was.

An hour passed. More of Kamanda’s entourage

joined them until there were a dozen officials and as

many servants on the verandah. A servant brought more

wine for BK and a glass of water for Kamanda. He

appeared shorter and fatter than the biographical files

had indicated. He moved around the verandah with a

kind of swaggering waddle. His eyes were hidden behind

dark SPEX implants with red lenses.

Speaking of eyes, as he and Quaranto had climbed

up to the roof, he had glimpsed a pattern of blue in

among the solid black of his eyes. He realized that he

had had tactical cornea implants. Quaranto could see in

the dark, zoom, enhance… probably had infrared and

other sensors as wel . He had heard of such implants

during his service in the planetary militia. Not many

people could put up with the constant pain they

produced.

They waited. Shortly before midnight, BK and

Kamanda seemed to get into an argument. Tomcufcik

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guessed that she had final y breached the idea of moving

him off-world. He did not seem warm to the idea. His

gesticulations became wilder. He nearly struck her in the

face. BK seemed to calm him down somewhat, and he

was waddling toward the exit when BK looked in

Tomcufcik’s direction and brushed her hair behind her

left ear.

Tomcufcik: Signal.

Quaranto: “About damned time.”

He squeezed off two shots from the Vermilion XR-13

sniper rifle. The first grazed BK’s left shoulder before

striking Kamanda between the shoulders. The second

struck the dictator at the base of the neck; a kil shot.

Tomcufcik: “You hit Keeler.”

Quaranto: “Yup, had to wound her to make it look

good.”

That was not part of the plan that had been explained

to him, but it made sense. No one would suspect she

was in on the assassination if she was wounded as wel .

Tomcufcik: “Is that it?”

Quaranto: “Yup, we’re done…. Almost.”

Then, Quaranto calmly removed his loose sidearm

from its holster and shot Tomcufcik in the chest.

---

After the Tritonian People’s Army found him

unconscious on the roof, they shackled him and brought

him to the Presidential Palace. They stuffed a gag in his

mouth to prevent him from protesting his innocence. He

doubted it would have done much good anyway, the

murder weapon was in his hands when they found him.

Stil in shackles, he was dragged onto a stage

Komondon (gravely): “President Kamanda is dead.”

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The crowd let loose with shouts of mourning and

exclamations of rage. Komondon let them go on for a bit

before slamming his fist on the podium and cal ing them

to silence.

Komondon: “The People’s Security Forces, acting

with swiftness and resolve, identified and apprehended

the Bel arian spy responsible for this cowardly act.”

Guards dragged Tomcufcik from the wings. Blinding

spotlights prevented him from seeing the crowd. He

could hear them, though.

Komadon held up a document. “People of New

Tritonia, your president has just issued the first executive

order of his regime; a death warrant for the cowardly

murderer of the people’s hero. The memory of Kamanda

wil be avenged!”

The crowd cheered. Someone began chanting, “Long

Live Komondon!” and in seconds, the chant was picked

up by the whole of the assembly.

Komondon cal ed for quiet, then, pronounced

sentence. “The prisoner wil be carried to the Wastes of

Yonayotagan When the sun rises, he wil burn, if the

dragon-vipers don’t take him first. And I shal personal y

carry out the sentence.”

The roaring and renewed “Long Live Komondon!”

indicated that the crowd found the sentence harsh but

fair.

---

The ornithopter’s blades kicked up a storm of stinging

silica shards as Komondon booted Tomcufcik through

the hatch at the back. A soldier recorded the moment for

posterity. Then the ‘thopter lifted up into the planet’s

night.

When the dust settled, he was alone beneath the

light of two planets. He looked around for some kind of

shelter; an outcrop of rocks or even a hole in the ground

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where he might hide from the heat of the sun when it

rose. There was nothing around him but endless

expanses of hot sand and rock as flat as a dinner plate.

When the sun rose, he would die. That was certain.

“Wel , this sucks,” Tomcufcik said quietly to himself.

For lack of anything better to do he began walking.

He had no concept of where ought to go, but he didn’t

want to just lay down on the sand and die.

As soon as he thought that, he noticed a constel ation

of five bright stars overhead. He raised his left hand and

put one star on the point of each finger. The one above

his index finger, he somehow knew, was the polar star of

Tritonia. He then strongly felt that he should begin

walking toward the southwest. So that is what he did.

Probably no one would ever find his body, or even

know what had happened to him.

That’s why he had been brought along, he thought. A

patsy, and he had no hope of ever … what… getting

even with them? They had sold him out in exchange for

an incalculable fortune in starship fuel. The thought

almost cracked him up. He would never have guessed

that the value of his life had been “incalculable.”

After several hours of walking, one part of the sky

began to lighten with alarming speed. There was no color

in the sunrises of Tritonia, just a rapid rising of white

light.

When it finished rising, he was going to fry.

He imagined it was going to be very painful.

Like burning to death, probably.

The horizon grew brighter, like a huge white star of

burning death was just on the other side of it.

It had been a pretty good life, up until now. He would

have liked to have had more of it.

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It was about then that, an outcropping of rock that

seemed oddly familiar to him came into view. He had the

undeniable feeling that, impossibly, he had seen it

before. He was ready to dismiss it as a mirage, but he

realized it offered his only chance of shelter across the

vast, soon to be burning, desert.

To his surprise, there was a Survival pack in the

sheltered part of the rock, containing water packs, one of

which he finished off immediately, There was also a

rescue beacon and a desert survival jumpsuit. He picked

up the beacon and activated it. Then he put on the suit.

A very bright light appeared and descended from the

sky. Something was approaching him, and fast. It was

just a light, racing ahead of the lightening sky. It was

definitely an aircraft; too fast for an ornithopter.

The aeroshuttle from Astra One stopped and hovered

just over his head, its counter-gravity pods kicking the

sand aside. Quaranto leaned out of the ventral hatch and

extended a large meaty hand, “Grab on!”

Tomcufcik reached out and grabbed on. Quaranto

pul ed him into the shuttle as it lifted above the sand. He

sealed the cargo hatch and barked into his COM Link.

“Punch it!”

With a gut-thudding lurch, the aeroshuttle accelerated

upward. Tomcufcik almost fel to the deck, but Quaranto

caught him again. “Easy, little guy.”

Tomcufcik: “I thought you guys left me behind.”

Quaranto: “Nope. She never listens to my advice.”

---

The shuttle met Astra One a several mil ion

kilometers away from New Tritonia. Jyeong was waiting

for him at the dock.

Jyeong: “How are you feeling?”

Tomcufcik: “Confused and tired.”

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Jyeong: “But not otherwise injured? Good. We should

go to the infirmary. I can give you something for the

radiation and exposure.”

Jyeong took Tomcufcik to the ship’s two-bed

infirmary, in the ship’s mid-section. There was a man

shackled into one of the healing beds whom Tomcufcik

recognized. “Kamanda?”

Kamanda strained against his restraints, ranting at

the top of his lungs. “Release me, you cockroaches!

Your strength is just an accident arising from the

weakness of others. I've seen horrors... horrors …

but you have no right to call me a murderer. You

have no right to takeme. You have no right to judge

me. Cockroches! Horror!”

BK: “He’s been like that ever since he woke up.

Jyeong, give the Supreme Heroic Leader some more

happy juice.”

Jyeong plunged a Med-Shooter into Kamanda’s

neck. The dictator screamed (although the injection was

painless). Then, he quickly col apsed, a smile came to

his somnolent lips, and drool began to pool on the sheet.

Tomcufcik: “I am even more confused.”

Jyeong looked to BK, and picked up on some signal

that Tomcufcik didn’t catch, but was apparently

permission to explain. Jyeong folded the dictator’s arms

over his chest. “I wil explain what I can once we have

finished here.”

They left him Kamanda to rest. Jyeong gave

Tomcufcik a couple of injections, and they repaired to

BK’s working suite where Quaranto had laid out some

snacks.

Jyeong began laying it out for him. “As you have

probably deduced, the assassination was staged. It was

a means to remove Kamanda from power.

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“Kamanda was actual y a Commonwealth deep

cover agent codenamed ‘Narcissus.’ He was sent to

Triton Lyra Beta to infiltrate the rebel ion. He was

supposed to stir things up enough that the

Commonwealth could come in and negotiate a peace

treaty. Instead, he took over the rebel ion, led the

Revolution, chased the other Tritonians off the planet,

and declared himself President for Life.”

BK interjected: “Al of which the Commonwealth was

wil ing to tolerate… until he began working on an Al iance

with the Bel arians.”

Jyeong: “The Commonwealth hired us to do a simple

extraction We had a plan to extract Kamanda, but when

we arrived in the Triton Lyra system, we learned our

operatives within the palace had been compromised.

Then, the Bel arian assassin… we at one point we

actual y had a Bel arian assassin lined up… he never

even made it to Triton. We had to improvise.”

Quaranto poked him: “You were actual y our plan D,

or something.”

Tomcufcik: “You set me up as a diversion so you

could escape,”

Jyeong shook his head: “Not just that. You were

absolutely critical to the success of this operation. By

capturing, trying, and executing you, the new leader,

Komondon, has a significant amount of political capital,

which wil get even bigger when they retrieve your body

and display it on the wal s of the palace.”

Tomcufcik: “My body?”

Jyeong: “We were able to procure a body. We tossed

it out of the aeroshuttle a few klicks from where we

picked you up. After a few days under the Tritonian sun,

what is left wil pass as your corpse, as long as no one

looks too closely.”

BK: “They won’t. Komondon will make sure of it, as

the new leader of the People’s Democracy of Tritonnia.

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Just as he made sure the ‘body’ of the former President-

for-Life was promptly cremated. Which reminds me, I

have a cal to make. KITT-E, open COM Links to Triton

Alpha and Prime.”

It took only a couple of minutes to get both of them

on the screen. BK explained to them that the mission had

been a success; that Kamanda would no longer be

around “to trouble you.”

The Prime Minister of Triton Alpha seemed delighted.

“We wil launch our combined attack while they are stil in

chaos.”

BK: “You may want to reconsider that. Komondon

has already succeeded Kamanda as supreme leader.

His political position wil only solidify if you attack. He

already has the ful support of the armed forces. Best-

case scenario in an attack is you take out Komondon’s

Government and occupy the capital. Then, what have

you got? An insurgency that’s going to cost you a

fortune. I can assure you, they have dug in their

defenses. It wil be even worse than last time.

“On the other hand, you could make a backside deal

with Komondon. He is not a revolutionary zealot like

Kamanda. You’ll get the Protactinium, Promethium,

Praseodymium and kick back a percentage to him. It’s a

better deal for you.”

The Prime Minister of Triton Prime frowned. “You

may be correct. But what if he is not wil ing to deal?”

BK assured him. “He wil be eager to strike an

al iance with… at least one of you. Think it over. You can

either get the elements and the profit – or you can get a

war. I know which one I would pick. I expect you to have

our mining contracts ful y executed by the time you

complete your next orbit. KITT-E, sever COM Link.”

Tomcufcik asked. “How do you know Komondon wil

make a deal.”

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Jyeong: “Komondon is also a Commonwealth agent,

Codenamed ‘Congo.’ As the hero of Tritonia, the avenger

of the murder of Heroic Leader, he wil be able to

negotiate a rapprochement with the other two planets.

And when Komondon insists that the New

Commonwealth monitor the peace treaty, the

Commonwealth wil final y have the opening they have

wanted in the Triton Lyra system.”

BK gave Tomcufcik Instructions: “You need to send a

TPT to Lakshmi Tesco – a Republicker ‘Business

Consultant’ – on the Chapterhouse StarLock. Word it,

exactly thus: ‘Darling, it’s been such a long time. En

retour from the Lyra Sector. The trip was an utter horror

show, but I picked up some things I think the kids wil

like. Cannot wait to get home. See you in church. Hugs

and Kisses, Bernie.’ Make absolutely certain to use

‘horror show’ and ‘see you in church,’ so the

Commonwealth wil know we have Kamanda and will

send a ship to rendezvous with us at the Churchyard

StarLock.”

Tomcufcik asked what the Commonwealth would do

with Kamanda, not that he cared, but he was curious.

Jyeong suggested they would make him the New

Commonwealth expert on Tritonian politics. “Failing ever

upward, it’s the Commonwealth way.”

Tomcufcik: “But he’s a war criminal… a mass

murderer.”

Quaranto: “And hardly anybody outside the Triton

Lyra system has ever heard of him.”

That left one thing Tomcufcik couldn’t figure out: “So

what do you get out of this? You’re the broker for al the

P-300 in the galaxy, but regardless of supply, there’s

only so much demand. What does that add to the bottom

line of the Keeler Trust? Half a percent in gross

revenues. You didn’t spend three years in transit and risk

my life for a rounding error on our balance sheets.”

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BK seemed impressed. “Bright boy, Spots. Of course,

there is more to it than that. I have two things that are far more valuable than al the P-300 in the quadrant. One – I

know about a complete cock-up that the New

Commonwealth desperately needs to keep hidden. So, I

have a secret. Two – by helping fix and cover up the

New Commonwealth’s cock up, they owe me a favor. A

huge favor. Having the New Commonwealth in my

pocket, that’s worth more than money.”

Tomcufcik: “How so?”

BK: “The Keeler Trust and Companies is a the largest

consortium in the galaxy. That’s both our biggest

strength, and our greatest weakness. That makes us

highly visible, and can attract the wrong kind of attention.

Bribery only gets you so far; blackmail can get you

anywhere, which brings us to the subject of your

compensation.”

Tomcufcik: “Considering that you could not have

pul ed this off without me, I think I’m entitled to something more than three years’ salary for this trip.”

BK: “Damn right you do, and I would have lost al

respect for you if you hadn’t said so. How does 100

shares of Keeler Alpha Preferred Stock sound?”

Tomcufcik: “My bonus is stock options?”

Jyeong chuckled. “Do you know how much 100

shares of K-Alpha Preferred are worth? Only the family

usual y gets access to those shares. She just made you

mil ionaire.”

Tomcufcik suppressed the impulse to pump his fist

and shout an obscene affirmation. Instead, he wanted to

push his advantage further: “Thank you for the generous

bonus. But I think in light of everything, I should also be

the new Operational Executive for the Lyra Sector once

we get back.”

BK laughed. “Sweetheart, you don’t want that job, it’s

boring. Besides, the AI already picked a replacement.”

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Tomcufcik: “I think some sort of promotion is in

order.”

BK: “I’l do you one better, Spots. I am going to make

you one of my deputies. You’l take assignments from

me, you’l report only to me. It comes with more money.

Not a lot more in terms of straight salary, but there wil be opportunities for bonuses.”

Tomcufcik: “Deputy to the Supreme Executive…

OK…I can live with that title.”

BK: “Spots, don’t get too excited. I’ve got like 200

deputies. Al right, let’s get this ship in gear and get back to a part of the galaxy where you can get a half decent

lunch.”

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“CHERCHEZ LA FEMME”

Corvallis, Sapphire – [Twenty-two Years before the

launch of the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus. AS7270,

APR6980, SY6988]

Despite its status as the planetary capital and one of the planet’s major metroplexes, visitors may be surprised to learn that, as is the case with all the cities of Sapphire, Corvallis is not a climate-controlled environment. Visitors should be wary of extremes in heat and cold, as well as wind and precipitation events. - Ministry of Transport and Travel, Office of Off-World Information Bulletin OFF-5417 (Rev. 18.33) “Useful Information about the City of Corvallis, Sapphire”

“Status differentials,” young Goneril Lear thought to

herself, “Are not reflected in one’s title, or the size of

one’s office, but in how long a superior keeps you

waiting.”

The man keeping her waiting was Avery

Groombridge, Senior Ambassador and Chief of the

Republic Ministry of Interplanetary Diplomacy Mission –

Corval is. His family’s prestige had been recently on the

decline, but he had stil managed to secure one of

Republic’s most important diplomatic posts.

Groombridge didn’t keep her waiting excessively

long, but it was long enough. The two doors at the end of

the reception area swished open and the Senior

Ambassador emerged with an aide. He greeted Lear with

a half-smile and dismissed the aide.

He was twice and half again her age, his head was

shaved, he was neither handsome nor unpresentable,

neither notably tal nor short. His low baritone voice and

top echelon accent were his most distinctive features; he

could have been a classical actor in the Ministry of Fine

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Arts. “Goneril Lear, welcome to Sapphire. How was your

aeroshuttle flight?”

No apology for the wait Lear noted. “The descent was

uneventful, but I had to wait on an open dock for almost

an hour before the hovercar arrived.”

Groombridge commented on what was, in Lear’s

opinion, the lesser part of her inconvenience. “I

remember my first time breathing this world’s

unprocessed air. I must have coughed for half an hour,

but one gets used to it.”

Pleasantries dispensed, he ushered Lear into his

office, leading her to the large window so she could take

in the grand view from the 92nd floor of Tower 1 of the

Republic Diplomatic Complex. The Complex consisted of

two gray skyscrapers that stood out from the stylishly

curved commercial towers of Corval is’s South Bank like

box trucks in a parking lot of sports cars.

Groombridge deactivated the opacity screen. From

here, he could look down on the island in the middle of

the wide Corval is River where Sapphire seated its

planetary government such as it was.

“What do you think?” he asked, standing too close to

her.

What did she think? She thought the capital city of

Sapphire was a backwater vil age compared to the

magnificent domed cities of Republic, but saying so

would have been undiplomatic. “I didn’t come here to this

planet admire the view.”

“Of course not,” Groombridge hustled away from the

window and took a seat behind his Class IV Executive

Desk. Her transfer file was on his desktop. “Junior

Diplomatic Attaché, fresh from the Foreign Service

Academy. I trust the retinal and fingertip sensor implants

did not cause you too much discomfort. I see you’ve

been assigned to the Emigration Office, the usual cover

for intel igence officers. Who have you come to spy on?”

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Lear bristled, “I’ve been assigned to the Emigration

Office to assist Sapphireans who wish to emigrate to

Republic.”

“It would make things so much easier if the Ministry

were up front about these things.” He deactivated the file,

rested his chin on his palm. “Are you certain you haven’t

been sent to spy on anyone?”

Lear: “I did not come here to spy on anyone.”

Groombridge: “Is it me?”

She struggled to determine if he was joking, then

crinkles appeared at the folds of his eyes and he

chuckled. “Forgive my levity. You’re among comrades

here, Junior Attaché Goneril Lear. My first assignment

was to the Emigration Office, and even back then it was

a cover for facilitating defection and espionage. I assume

that is the subtext of your assignment.”

Lear: “You facilitated he defection of one of

Sapphire’s highest ranking military strategists, Goodman

Fairlight.”

Groombridge demurred with affected modesty. “My

role may have been somewhat exaggerated. Fairlight

was easy to turn. He was born into wealth. His ego is

enormous. Such men are open to the idea that power,

exercised properly, can be used to benefit the common

good, which is the heart of what we believe as

Republickers.”

Groombridge paused to take a sip from the cup on

his desk, then went on. “Convincing him to stay and

gather information for another year was harder than

persuading him to defect. I’ve managed defections that

were far more chal enging and at least two where the

defectors were… oh, let us say, uncooperative.”

He turned toward his panoramic window. “Do you see

that red tower to the east of our complex? It’s cal ed the

Rose Tower. It houses Sapphire’s intel igence services.

Do you know what they cal their intel igence agency?

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They cal it the Spy Office. The Spy Office! Can you

imagine?”

“It lacks subtlety,” Lear observed.

“As a people, they prefer frank honesty to

euphemism. In their language, they use the same word

for ‘euphemism’ and ‘toilet.’ Now, according to official

records, The Spy Office is headquartered on the 7th

through 11th floors of that structure, but we have reason

to believe those offices are fake and the real

headquarters are in a quaint, picturesque fishing vil age

in the western seaboard of this continent. That may also

be a deception. In the past, we’ve received verified

intel igence that their headquarters were located in the

cone of an extinct volcano in their Kandor province, in a

jungle fortress in their Arcadia Province, and in an ice-

fortress on their continent of Boreala. We chased al

those leads down and found nothing. Do you know

where I think their headquarters is located?”

Lear: “Where?”

Groombridge: “In floors seven through eleven of that

red building to the east.”

He told another story. “Northwest of this city, there is

a Sapphire Defense Facility cal ed Timber Lake. Nearby

is a cheese factory we suspected was a military research

laboratory. We spent four years getting an agent inside,

and when we did, it turned out to be a cheese factory.

The Spy Office had gone to some effort to make it look

like a research laboratory disguised as a cheese factory,

but it turned out to be a cheese factory disguised as a

research lab disguised as a cheese factory.”

Lear: “Why would they do that?”

Groombridge: “To make us waste our time and

energy and in doing so, learn about our intel igence

gathering and infiltration techniques. They treat

espionage as a game and enjoy sending us chasing

phantom intel igence targets.”

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He continued. “I give new personnel one item of

advice; don’t lie to a Sapphirean. They can sense lies.

It’s difficult for us, we lie casual y and cal it diplomacy.

But they always know, and it causes distrust.”

Lear: “You seem to know them wel .”

Groombridge: “It’s my job.”

Lear: “You could have leveraged your success into a

much higher position on Republic, but you are on your

fifth diplomatic tour.”

Groombridge: “It has been an unmitigated honor to

represent the people of Republic this past quarter

century, and at the pleasure of my Government, I shal

continue in this honorable role for as long as Republic

wil have me.”

Lear: “I should like to hear more of your exploits.”

Groombridge: “In time, perhaps, but the journey to

this planet was no doubt grueling and you need some

time to acclimate yourself. Check in with the

Accommodation office for your quarters and begin

orienting yourself to the complex. Frankly, I recommend

bypassing the cafeteria on the second floor. You should

try the food shops just outside the gates; Republic

cuisine but with a Sapphire twist.”

He handed over to her a smal device containing her

diplomatic credentials and personal services account. “A

pale, young and easily intimidated intern wil take you to

your accommodations in the residential tower.”

---

Years on Sapphire are divided into ten “months’ of 28 days each.

Days have individual names that are repeated according to a seven-day cycle. A Sapphirean day is .62x the length of a day on Republic.

Adjust your sleep schedule accordingly. – Ministry of Transport and Travel, Off-World Facilitation Office Informative Bulletin OFF-5417 (Rev. 18.3) “Useful Information about the City of Corvallis, Sapphire”

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Twenty-eight days went by. Goneril Lear worked from

a tiny cubicle in the interior of a windowless floor of the

Diplomacy Tower; processing the 1 or 2 people a week

who sought to emigrate to Republic from Sapphire.

On that afternoon, her client was a disheveled young

man named Colin Harbinger who went by the name

“Col ie,” according to his application form. He was shorter

than her, slender, with shaggy hair and dirty fingernails.

He had spent two years studying at Graceland University

without completing any program of study before moving

to Corval is.

Lear had worked her way through the final question

on the standard interview list. “How do you see yourself

contributing to the Common Good of Republic?”

He wiped his nose with his dirty hand. “I’d like to

something in visual media. I’m an artist. I’m wil ing to do

pretty much anything so long as it’s in visual media.”

She recorded his response, and then told him what

she told everyone. “In order to emigrate, you wil have to

be sponsored by one of our Social Ministries. Each has a

quota. Getting on the sponsorship list for one of your

preferred ministries can take four of your years or longer,

but there are things you can do to help improve your

odds of being selected.”

He rol ed his eyes and drew his arms into himself.

“Like what?”

Lear: “In some cases, it’s possible to arrange a

ministerial internship. You would perform clerical duties,

help us gather and process information.”

“Like spying?”

That was an odd leap, Lear thought. “Nay, not

spying, although, several ministries sponsor perfectly

aboveboard information gathering to promote

participatory democracy on your world. If you work with

one of them for a year, we can expedite your selection;

perhaps provide a stipend.”

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He leaned back in his chair. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” she replied. “But the sooner you get

started, the sooner your emigration can be arranged.”

They concluded their business with Lear providing

him with her contact information. Col ie Harbinger was

not very valuable, but his brother was an engineer at the

Cloudbuster Aerospace company. Sapphire was years

ahead of Republic in space propulsion and navigation.

This could turn out to be a relationship worth cultivating,

although she would have to string him along for longer

than the year she had implied.

That was the last person she had to interview for that

day. She had an appointment to check in with Senior

Ambassador Groombridge. She traveled to the 92nd

floor where she found him once again staring out through

the window. It was an overcast day; a damp,

cumulonimbus shroud hung over the city.

Groombridge: “How has your first month been, Junior

Attache Goneril Lear?”

Lear: “I have adapted to this assignment, Senior

Ambassador Groombridge.”

Groombridge: “Have you taken the opportunity to

explore the city?”

Lear: “I’ve visited their Government Complex and

their museum of the history of their planet.”

Groombridge (disappointed): “Is that it? You must get

out more. You’l stagnate if you don’t. We can’t have

that.”

After the standard progress review, Groombridge

shared with her troubling news. “I’ve just received

communique from our station in New Cleveland. One of

our intel igence operatives has defected.”

Lear tried to take the news philosophical y. “The door

swings both ways.”

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Groombridge: “The Security Ministry wil be

conducting reviews at al of the stations. Standard

procedure. It doesn’t matter that Corval is has had fewer

defections than New Cleveland. Not by accident. Just as

we have to be receptive to signals that one of their

people may defect, we need to understand our own

people, and be alert to signals that they may turn.”

Lear: “Why anyone would turn against Republic, I

can’t imagine.”

Groombridge: “Only a few defect for purely political

reasons. You may find it hard to believe, but the most

common reason for defection is simply that some people

enjoy living on a planet where you don’t have to live

under an atmospheric dome; where you can see the sun,

more days than not, where water flows. The period

before a citizen returns to Republic is the most

hazardous time for defections. That’s when we put them

under the most scrutiny.”

Lear: “What about personal relationships?”

Groombridge’s mood brightened. “Oh? Has a

dashing young Sapphirean swept my newest Emigration

Coordinator off her feet?”

Lear: “Not at al , I was just curious.”

Groombridge: “Of course, you are a loyal daughter of

Republic. In seriousness, that is less of a concern. Those

who become romantical y or emotional y involved with

Sapphireans and wish to remain general y go through the

legitimate channels. And, to be fair, since legitimate

channels take typical y two to three years, a lot of them

fal out of romantic relationships in the interim.”

Before proceeding to the constant meetings he took

throughout the day, Groombridge extended an invitation

to her. “I’m giving a talk at the Corval is University in four days. There’s a young woman who frequently attends

these talks, Adena Lara, the daughter of Bettina Lara.

Bettina Lara is a Behavioralist who consults with the

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Sapphirean Government, advising them on how to deal

with us. The Ministry would be interested to know what

sort of insights Lara provides to them.”

Lear: “Have you been working on recruiting her?”

Groombridge: “There may be a potential opening,

long term. It might be worthwhile for you cultivate a

relationship with the young lady in question.”

Lear understood, no more needed to be said. “Thank

you, Senior Deputy Ambassador. I should be happy to

attend and make contact with Adena Lara.”

Groombridge: “Splendid. You’ll find this opportunity

highly instructive. My recommendation to get out of the

complex stands. You never know who you might meet.”

---

All educational systems on Sapphire are privatized and operate primarily to profit their owners. Citizens of Republic wishing to study at Sapphirean institutions will not receive financial assistance, and are advised that any studies completed will not be validated. – Ministry of Education Bulletin ED-209. “Interplanetary Studies Program”

Groombridge was a crisp and polished speaker, and

made his case to the Sapphireans with wit and aplomb.

He even handled their questions and critiques with a

graciousness she could not have mustered in the face of

such disrespect. Had he returned to Republic, he would

surely have been a Minister by now.

Adena Lara sat in the back taking notes, but never

asking questions. The first meeting she left early and

Lear thought it best not to pursue her. It would have been

too obvious. The second time, Lear made a point to sit

next to her and attempt smal talk before the discussion

started, but the girl proved unreceptive to polite

overtures. Lear discreetly fol owed her to the Corval is

River Concourse and saw her duck into a café.

After the third lecture, Lear staked herself in the

same café, taking a seat that gave her a view of

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everyone who entered. She ordered tea and something

cal ed “Blazing Hot Meat Chunks” that she ignored. After

about forty minutes of waiting, Adena Lara entered and

took a seat in the lounge. At about the same time, a

young couple came in and, by accident, blocked her view

of Lara. The man looked around, “Do you think this dump

has a bar?”

The woman: “Oh, Bil . You don’t drink, darling.”

The man: “I’ve been thinking of starting, just a little,

and only to help me cope with the stress of dealing with

those idiots at the university.”

The woman: “Fantastic idea, darling, let’s find a bar.

There has to be one somewhere.”

When the couple cleared, Adena Lara had left the

lounge. That stupid couple had distracted her from her

primary mission. The young woman couldn’t have gotten

far. Lear hurried outside and scanned the concourse in

vain. Perhaps the woman had gone into the hygiene pod.

She went inside, but she wasn’t there.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she hissed to herself.

---

Even in the larger Sapphirean cities, public transport may prove a challenging experience. All transport is privatized. The owners of transport services are profit-driven and fiercely competitive. As a result, many transports are maintained at the minimum level of repair and hygiene to maximize profit. – Ministry of Transport and Travel, Off-World Facilitation Office Informative Bulletin OFF-5417 (Rev.

18.3) “Useful Information about the City of Corvallis, Sapphire”

The rest of the first quarter of Lear’s assignment

passed uneventful y. She met with Col ie Harbinger twice

more, but reluctantly concluded that he real y had

nothing to offer her. She processed his paperwork and

told him he could begin the emigration process in two

years. He had threatened to turn her into his Government

as a spy for trying to recruit him. She knew it was an

empty threat.

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On a glorious day on the cusp of autumn, when the

sky was the deep blue color that had inspired an ancient

survey crew to name the planet, Lear went to the

hovercar garage at the base of the Diplomatic Tower.

There was a man waiting there; blond, middle aged, with

deeply furrowed lines in his forehead. He smiled at her,

“Ah, Good Meridian, fel ow citizen of the Republic.”

His name was Ramses Holden. According to the

personnel roster, he was the Chief Mechanic of the

Republic Diplomatic Complex Hovercar Pool. Lear

returned his greeting with the requisite civility. “Good

Meridian to you, fel ow citizen.”

He replied. “Are you headed out this morning?

Venturing into the City?”

Lear: “I have business.”

Holden: “Government Island?”

Lear: “Perhaps.”

Holden: “If you go to the North Bank, there’s a

stunning Panrovian Bistro there.”

Lear: “Thank you, citizen. Which hovercar should I

take.”

Holden: “I recommend Hovercar 602. It was just

serviced.”

She nodded and accepted the key card he handed to

her. The navigation system asked her a destination as

the doors closed quietly around her. She gave it the

address and secured her safety harness. The vehicle

passed underneath the two gigantic spheres of wadded

metal… representing “Peace” and “Understanding” that

were the only decorative elements in the Complex’s

austere concrete plaza, marking its entrance gate.

Her car joined the stream of traffic crossing over the

Corval is River, rising a hundred meters into the air as it

tracked the sky beacons. The river was broad and deep

here where it bent away from the mountains that fed it

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and began its long tour to the sea. Republic had neither

rivers nor seas, but the sight did not impress her.

The hovercar descended toward the North Bank of

the river; where the cluster of buildings was much larger

but their heights less impressive than those on the South

Bank. Suburbs fil ed the broad plain to the north. So

wasteful, Lear thought. Ten times the footprint for a tenth

of the population of a city on Republic.

The North Bank’s chaotic architecture and ubiquitous

commercial holograms reflected both the lack of central

planning and the gaudiness that afflicted Sapphire’s

profit-oriented society. Hovercars buzzed the streets,

most with just a single occupant. So, wasteful, Lear

thought. So anti-social, she thought. The intra-city

transport systems of Republic provided a shared sense

of community and common purpose, reinforced by the

announcements on their COM Systems encouraging

citizens to perform their civic duties and report any

unauthorized food or beverages to the Transit Wardens.

Her Hovercar pul ed into a docking station a few

blocks away from the rendezvous. She walked the rest of

the way to the Aloha Snackbar fast-food franchise. A

hologram sign outside depicted the chain's cartoon

mascot graphically il ustrating its slogan, “Eat ‘til you

explode!” She went inside, saw her contact sitting in a

booth with the remains of a meal in front of him.

“Have you found the woman?” she asked as she sat

down.

“Good grief, they told me you were no good at this,

but I had no idea how bad....” In a low voice he ordered,

“Walk up to the counter, order a Beast-Burger combo

with extra Blazing Hot Fries and don’t come back to the

table until you have it.”

“I’m not hungry.” Lear had not accustomed herself to

the short Sapphirean days. She was never hungry at the

planet's mid-day.

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“It doesn’t matter, you have to blend in.”

“I thought we owned this commercial food distribution

establishment.”

He rol ed his eyes. “We do, it’s cal ed a restaurant,

and you need to blend in. Everybody here is eating.

That’s what people come to this place to do. Now go to

the counter and order an Al being-damned Beast-Burger

combo. And get the Tangy Zesty Sauce for the fries.”

She went to the counter and after a brief exchange

with one of the chirpy teenagers returned with a tray of

animal proteins and processed plant materials.

“Eating Sapphirean fast food is hardly the most

distasteful thing they're ever going to make you do,” he

reached over and began eating her hot fries.

“Have you found the woman?” she asked again, now

that his requirement to ‘blend in’ had been satisfied.

“We think so.” He discreetly passed her a smal

square black datacard. “She was not easy to track down,

but she fits our profile. She’s about your age, which is

why we thought you would be ideal for making contact

with her.”

“And what shal I do after I have made contact?”

He took a few more of her fries and dipped them in

the orange-red sauce that came with them. “It’s al on the

card. The brief version is you to bring her onboard. Get

her to work for us.”

“Recruit her.”

“In time, but you must initialize her by getting her to

agree to very smal favors in the beginning. Eventual y,

we can leverage smal favors into larger obligations. But

we have to proceed prudently, incremental y.”

“I know how it’s done,” Lear insisted.

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Without eating a bit of her meal, she left the Aloha

Snackbar. She sent the recal command to the hovercar

and climbed inside when it pul ed up to the curb.

She stopped by Sapphire’s Planetary Government

Complex on the mid-river island before returning to the

Diplomatic Complex and took a strol through its leafy,

parklike campus. The Legislature Dome struck her as

absurdly smal for the business of running a planet.

When she returned to the Diplomatic Complex, she

repaired to her quarters on the 52nd level. Only then did

she final y read the card. It was the profile of the woman

she had been sent to find.

Her name was Europa Minx. It did not sound like a

Sapphirean name. Her biography said she was born in

Sapphire, but her parents were expatriates of Republic.

(“Disloyalists,” Lear thought.) She was only a year

younger than Lear. The card included several pictures of

an attractive young woman with light hair, light skin, and

soft features typical of the women of Republic. She lived

in a community cal ed Candle Cove, in one of the

northern sectors of Corval is.

Minx had been under surveil ance since before Lear

arrived in Corval is. She attended the Corval is University

where she was studying interplanetary relations. Less

frequently, she visited an entertainment and shopping

complex on the North Bank, the Concourse of the

Crystal ine Sky. The patterns of her travels were typical

for a young Sapphirean woman; deliberately typical, Lear

thought.

The psychological profile recommended moderate

psychological pressure, that Minx could be persuaded to

cooperate if she could be convinced it was in her best

interest. Lear decided she would take that analysis

under advisement.

---

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Visitors are also advised to avoid giving offense to the inhabitants of Sapphire, many of whom may be armed with lethal weapons. The

Government of Republic cannot be held responsible if your injury or death results from a lack of understanding of planetary conditions and/or cultural protocols. – Ministry of Transport and Travel, Office of Off-World Information Bulletin OFF-5417 (Rev. 18.33) Useful Information about the City of Corvallis, Sapphire

Candle Cove was upriver of Corval is proper, an

enclave nestled into a portage off the river. A col ection

of slab-like residential complexes, stacked and

interlocked with one another, climbing up the hil s of the

cove around a central commercial complex. Many of

Republic’s expatriate community resided here; the

density of the buildings reminded them of home.

It was not far from one of the dam complexes that

kept the Corval is River behaved while providing the city

with power from Magnetohydrodynamic generators. Lear

knew that Republic had developed plans [Under Top

Secret cover] to destroy the dams in the event of another

conflict with Sapphire. Some of the expatriates who lived

here had been trained for that operation in case it ever

became necessary.

There was a MagLev station in Candle Cove that

dropped her at the commerce center. Lear made two

intermediate stops to make her more difficult to track. It

was a half hour walk to the residence. The woman who

met her at the door was older than she had expected.

“Europa Minx?”

The woman smiled pleasantly. “Europa Minx is my

daughter, I’m Eurydice Minx. Are you one of her friends

from the University?”

“I am,” Lear answered, desperately trying to

improvise on the spot. “We were supposed to attend a

lecture this evening, and I was hoping to coordinate with

her beforehand.”

Eurydice Minx: “Your accent is Republicker.”

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Lear: “I am in the Interplanetary Studies program. I

was hoping Europa could explain some of the aspects of

Sapphire’s non-adversarial justice system to me.”

The eyes of Eurydice Minx narrowed. “Why are you

lying to me? You’re no student.”

Lear considered the change in information and

adjusted her approach. “I would prefer not to say what I

have come to say outside.”

Eurydice Minx: “I would prefer not to have you in my

dwel ing unit. The Protection Service in Candle Cove is

very good. State your business and then leave.”

Lear: “Do you real y want me to announce to your

fel ow citizens that your daughter is having a love affair

with the Senior Republic Ambassador.”

Lear saw a moment of fear in the eyes of Eurydice

Minx. “Come inside.”

They stepped together into the smal vestibule of the

dwel ing. Minx would let her go no further. “That’s far

enough. How do you… why do you suspect my daughter

is involved with your senior ambassador?”

Lear watched her hands careful y. “Republic

maintains vigilance on persons of importance, including

our Senior Ambassador, of course. It’s a matter of

planetary security to keep our high-level personnel from

being compromised.”

Eurydice Minx: “By threatening my daughter.”

Lear: “Not at al . In fact, I want to protect your

daughter. If she cooperates with us, we can keep her

safe from those who would exploit this… difficult

situation.”

“This difficult situation,” Eurydice Minx repeated.

She seemed to have processed the initial shock. Lear

had to keep her under pressure. “Your daughter has a

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promising future ahead of her. There is absolutely no

reason for her to lose it over a sil y indiscretion.”

The woman was firm. “My daughter is not having an

affair with the senior ambassador… I am. So, leave her

out of this.”

“Are you sure of that?” Caught off-guard, it was al

Lear could think to day. It was meant to express her

skepticism that the mother was trying to cover for the

daughter, but it came out wrong.

“I am certain of those with whom I share my

company. I think you should leave.”

Lear would have some harsh words for the

intel igence operatives in her report, of that she was

certain. She was equal y certain she could salvage this.

With a swift movement, she grabbed the woman by

shoulders and pinned her to the wal .

“Listen to me very careful y. You have two very

distinct choices. If you cooperate, you and the senior

deputy ambassador wil be al owed to continue your

relationship, and it wil not be exposed to the public. In

return, you and I wil meet weekly, and you wil report to

me on anything he tel s you.

“If you do not cooperate, your relationship wil be

publicly exposed. If you lie to me, you wil be exposed.

You and your daughter wil suffer humiliation and loss of

your social status. The Senior Ambassador wil lose his

position and return to Republic where he wil face trial for

dereliction of duty. He wil end his career in disgrace.

Your choice is simple, cooperate and continue your lives

as they are, or refuse and three lives will suffer. Is that

understood?”

The woman was breathing hard. “Is that

understood?” Goneril Lear repeated.

Eurydice Minx: “I … I wil … please, just don’t harm

Avery or my daughter.”

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Lear eased away from her. She did her best to strike

a pleasant tone. “We only want to know what he’s up to.

We just want to make sure he’s not carelessly revealing

any of the secrets with which our Government has

entrusted him. That’s al .”

She told Eurydice Minx she would give her a day to

think about it, and contact her the fol owing evening.

---

That night, from her quarters in the Diplomatic

Complex, Lear stared out at the lights of Corval is. She

missed Republic. This world with its unimaginable wealth

of atmosphere and water, its chaos, its fast-food

distribution points, its private hovercars was not her

world. She was not going to stay here long enough to be

seduced by this planet’s charms as Groombridge had

been. Once she completed this assignment, she would

be happy to never live among Sapphireans again.

---

The next day she reported to her station in the

Emigration Office. She had no interviews scheduled for

that day, so she had planned to review her case files.

She settled in at her workstation precisely when her shift

began.

Around her second hour of work, people from the

Diplomatic Security Office pressed by her station. They

went into the office of her supervisor, the Deputy Attache

for Emigration, Emile Disney. The office’s privacy

screens deployed soon after. When the men left, Lear

went to the Deputy Attachee’s office, finding her superior

in a state of agitation. “Is something wrong?”

“Close and seal the door,” Disney told her. When

Lear did, she explained, “You haven’t been told, but

Ambassador Groombridge didn’t show up at his office

this morning. He somehow exited the complex during the

night. They’re saying he… that defected.”

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Lear felt the news like a blow to the solar plexus.

“The Senior Ambassador… that’s not possible. His

loyalty was tested regularly.”

Disney shrugged. “In security training, they told us

you can never predict those who might be disloyal.

However, I would never would have thought the Senior

Deputy Ambassador would betray Republic.”

Lear had to ask, “Did they suggest any motive for his

defection?”

Disney managed a wan half-smile. “You know what

they say, when a man starts behaving irrational y, look

for the woman.”

Disney reminded her not to share the information

until an official announcement was made. That

announcement came in the mid-afternoon.

Effective Day 24 Quarter 2 APR6989 – Ephraim Ford will serve as the Acting Senior Ambassador for the Ministry of Interplanetary

Diplomacy Mission to Sapphire - Corvallis, pending the appointment of a permanent replacement.

No details were offered. Lear noted that the

announcement neither used the name of Avery

Groombridge nor contained a grateful acknowledgement

of his years of service. This suggested that he had

indeed defected.

Lear had never considered that Eurydice Minx would

go to the Sapphirean authorities; but that was exactly

what she did. While Eurydice spoke to Sapphirean

security requesting protection, Avery Groombridge

walked into the seventh floor of the Rose building and

offered to tel the Spy Office everything he knew about

Republic’s clandestine activities in Corval is and

elsewhere in exchange for residency and protection.

---

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On a gray, unseasonably cold day in mid-Autumn,

while her col eagues were distracted by a televised

Sapphirean groundball game, Lear made her way down

to the Hovercar Pool. Holden was waiting for her,

wearing his gray Mechanic’s jumpsuits and overseeing a

junior mechanic as they checked the vehicle use logs.

“Mechanic Durand, why don’t you leave early today.

Go watch the match or something.” The junior mechanic

nodded and left. Holden stared across at her. “Wel , you

real y cocked this one up.”

Lear stood her ground, “I fol owed my orders

precisely… to the letter.”

Holden derided her. “Wel , good for you, Aprilus. You

completely botched the operation, but you fol owed your

instructions.”

Lear felt heat rising on her face. “Your operative gave

me flawed intel igence.”

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. You cocked

up.” Holden walked to one of the hovercars and opened

its engine compartment. “When you met a fifty-four year

old woman instead of a twenty-four year old girl, you

should have recognized that a different dynamic was at

play. Older women don’t respond to intimidation. They

don’t have the insecurities of younger women.”

Only the thought of her future ambitions kept Lear

from giving him a stern lecture on gender stereotypes.

Holden went on. “Instead of having a high-ranking

diplomatic official under our thumb, we now have the

humiliating situation of a senior ambassador defecting.

No doubt, he is providing the Rose with a detailed

accounting of our activities on this planet. He should

hope the Rose can hide him and his mistress wel .” He

leaned in and attached a diagnostic device to its data

port. “Hm, proton accelerator is out of calibration. That’s

why Hovercar 804 has been stal ing out.”

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Lear didn’t care about the Hovercar. “What wil

happen now?”

Holden put the diagnosticator aside and wiped his

hands on a rag. “The outcome of the elections two

quarters ago resulted in a shake-up in Republic’s

government. The Modern Pragmatists split with the

Centrist Al iance and joined the Moderate Union to create

a new coalition government. They have majorities in two

houses, and a plurality in two more. If the Public

Cooperative Party splits with the Centrist Al iance, the

Moderate Union wil have a majority in four houses. The

only obstacle to that is the Governor of Sector 14 South,

Mr. Nike, who is also the Southern Cooperative’s best

shot at winning a seat in the Executive Committee.

“If we can salvage anything from this, by exposing

Groombridge, you have opened the door for his superior,

Ambassador General Thorne, to be sacked for

negligence. Governor Nike wil be appointed

Ambassador General to Sapphire, a post he cannot

refuse, else his rivals would accuse him of not answering

Republic’s cal to duty. Either way, Nike’s finished

political y.”

Lear: “I meant what wil happen to me.”

Holden told her to pack her things. “You’re being

recal ed to Republic. On the way, you stil stop on

Hyperion. We have a mole in the Hyperion Spaceworks

who has acquired some very useful technical data on a

new power source the Sapphireans are developing. You

are to transport this data to the homeworld under

diplomatic cover. Do you think you can handle that

without cocking it up?”

Lear’s cheeks burned with humiliation, but her

answer was strong. “Aye. My only necessary incentive is

my duty to Republic.”

She made her way to back to the tower of residence.

Part of her … most of her … was relieved to be leaving

this dreadful planet.

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---

In summary, the actions of Goneril Lear (Aprilus) resulted in the failure of a mission that was four years planning and execution. In this agent’s opinion, she is unsuitable for further missions of this nature and should be transferred to a role where she can cause the least harm; perhaps the Odyssey Project. – Ramses Holden, Chief Operative of the Corvallis Station: Final Report on the Investigation into the Defection of Senior Ambassador Avery Groombdrige.

Classified Level Omega. Never to be released for public review.

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PIONEERS

Unless the people of the future maintain Third World

Level birthrates, it will be very difficult for humans to

reproduce fast enough to conquer the galaxy within

the speculative timeline. It would also prove difficult

to find large numbers of people willing to leave

modern, civilized colonies to spend decades

traveling to primitive worlds on the other side of the

galaxy. This story, set some 2500 years before the

events of Worlds Apart Book 01, posits one

approach for resolving that problem.

(Solar Year 4774) Commonwealth of the Galaxy -

Ursa Minor Sector – Pioneer IV Colony -

Suburbs of New Andreas City

“This is the deal we’re making,” said the girl. She was

sitting on her bed, one knee drawn up to her chin. The

boy stood in front of her. Extending her other leg, she

stroked the top of his foot with her toes. “You make me

happy for 30 minutes, then you get to shoot your seed in

me. Deal?”

The boy grinned in a wel -practiced imitation of

sheepishness. “Al right.”

The girl quickly stripped down to a bra and panties

and lay back with her shoulders propped on some

pil ows. The boy stripped off his jersey, his shoes, his

socks and his jeans, letting them fal on the floor next to

the bag with his groundbal gear.

She drew herself to the head of the bed. He climbed

into the bed over her, knees first, and positioned himself

in a straddling position over her naked body. She was a

pale creature, with thick red-brown hair… carpet and

drapes. In his dark eyes and the dusky hue of his skin

were traces of his Mesoamerican ancestry; on a planet

14,000 light years away whose history occupied Chapter

1 of their history texts.

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His touch was clumsy, which the girl had expected,

and she had to guide him to her pleasure centers; the

tips of her breasts, the sensitive zones of her inner thigh,

and that spot behind her elbows her cousin had

discovered over the holiday break. She didn’t mind his

roughness, the thought of being his teacher, of being the

one who would make his motions better for the girls who

would fol ow her, was part of what aroused her about the

scene.

Thirty-two minutes after her initial proposition, he was

pul ing his pants over his muscular brown legs, and she

was lying in bed, watching him, and wondering if there

was any fruit salad in the food preservation unit on the

lower level of the dwel ing unit.

“I gotta go,” he said to her, as his autolaces strapped

together and tightened his feetgear.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Thanks.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and flashed his

too-white smile at her. “Yeah, it was good,” he said by

way of “you’re welcome.”

Ursa Minor Sector - Pioneer IV Colony -

New Andreas City

The girl lay back in the clinic as the probe entered

her. She didn’t know what kind of sensory alteration

program the clinic used, but it made her feel wonderful;

like her loins were immersed in some warm, electric

stew. She was only vaguely aware of the presence of the

long robotic appendage – slathered in biolubricant – that

had entered her. It seemed like it was happening to

someone else.

“Extraction wil be complete in thirty seconds,” the

Medico, Dr. Kapoor, told her. She was a pleasant woman

in her thirties, but her toneless, clinical voice was an

unwelcome intrusion into the music program she had

been enjoying while the procedure was completed.

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“This is my first time,” the girl burbled. She didn’t

know why she said it, but the sensory program was

making her feel chatty and uninhibited.

“There’s a first time for everybody,” Dr. Kapoor said

amiably. She watched the monitor closely. On its

holographic screen displayed an enhanced view of the

girl’s cervical passage. The probe pressed gently inward

and began scanning for the tiny embryon.

The girl began humming a snatch of popular music.

Hughes filtered it out. In the adjacent cubicle, she heard

the next patient… rather older than hers… moan softly

as the probe withdrew from her insides.

A smal “ping” came from her machine. The probe

had found the embryon. A quick scan showed it intact

and healthy. “Got you,” Hughes whispered. Her hands

were contained in a pair of sensory gloves, similar to the

ones used by asteroid miners for remote mining robots,

but far more sensitive. It was very important to extract

the embryon intact. First, she sprayed the embryon in

bio-sustainment gel. Then, she careful y loosened it from

the uterine wal . It didn’t want to go, at first, but a little more gel, and just the slightest increase in pressure

convinced it to detach. The probe quickly drew it into its

proboscis, and slowly pul ed out from inside the girl.

“That’s it,” Kapoor announced. She stood up. “You

can rest here until you feel ready to get up. The nursing

technician wil give you your check and some medication

on the way out. You did real y good.”

“Mmm,” said the girl. She lay back on the bed, eyes

closed, as though lying there for a while seemed like a

good idea. It would not be a problem. The clinic was slow

today, and there were plenty of empty beds.

“How long…?” the girl muttered dreamily.

Kapoor looked at her. What would she spend her

thousand credits on? Clothes? Entertainment? A spring

break getaway to Azuza Beach? The money would go

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quickly, and she would be back. Like many of the donors,

she wanted to know how long before she could donate

again.

“Three months, minimum,” Kapoor answered,

honestly, the injections would see to that. “And a year

would be better.”

Kapoor delivered the egg-shaped container upstairs

to Dr. Langer, the gene specialist. Dr. Langer placed the

pod under a scanner that bathed it in warm orange light.

A holographic model of the embryonic DNA appeared in

front of him. “Looks very strong, this personality

sequence shows a tendency toward athleticism and

leadership. High intel igence gradient. This one wil

require minimal augments.”

Dr. Kapoor munched on a cracker. “The young ones

always give us the best stock.”

Langer was an older man, scrawny with unkempt

hair, who wore a large multi-spectral eyepiece as a

permanent accoutrement. “Too bad the Commonwealth

outlawed military embryonic sales. They would have paid

premium for this one.” Langer was a veteran of the

Scorpio Campaign, lost his original legs battling the

insurgency on Beta Niobe. He moved on prosthetics of

black cable and stainless steel. The system alerted

Langer to a match in the embryon database. “Wel ,

hel o.”

“What is it?”

Langer zoomed in on the matching file. “Our little boy

has a brother, a half-brother anyway. Paternal half-

brother, some little stud has been busy.”

Langer pul ed up data from the file. “The other donor

named hers… Adrian Bronsteen.”

Kapoor checked the donor record. “This one’s donor

didn’t want to leave hers a name. So, we’l let them share

the same last name. Let’s keep it alphabetical… Aidan.

No, Arnold. No, Aidan. Aidan Bronsteen.”

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Usual y, a program in the administrative computer

assigned the names when the donor didn’t, which was

most of the time. This prevented Medicos from giving

embryons ridiculous monikers like “Harry Butt” or “Wolf

Blitzer.” It was an easy enough check to bypass provided

the chosen name was reasonable.

“Makes no difference to me,” Langer made a few final

entries into the file and removed the embryon pod from

the scanning pad. Kapoor placed the pod inside a

gestational chamber. The system cycled into cryostasis

to keep the future colonist stable for transport.

“Where is he going?” Langer asked.

Kapoor answered. “We’re sending 2,000 to the

Bel wether system on the next hyper-transport,” she told

him. “Order from the Omega Nova Consortium.”

Every time Kapoor went over the economics in her

head, the scale of the operation staggered her. Each

embryon was bought from the donor for a thousand

credits, give or take, depending on the market that day.

Each cost about 100,000 credits to grow to adulthood

and transport to a colony, but each would produce, in a

lifetime, on average, over a mil ion credits of economic

output.

Today, she would make the Omega Nova consortium

six mil ion credits in future income and it had been a

relatively slow day. Her bonus this year would pay for a

nice vacation cottage in New Havana. She could sit on

the beach, sip hibiscus tea, and think about her own

embryons, on colony-ships bound for distant worlds.

Nobody wanted to raise more than one or two

children these days, except the religious fanatics. But the

Human Race had to grow… quickly… to keep colonizing

the galaxy.

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Eridanus Sector - Bellwether Colony -

Vitali Lobov Orbital Station

Omega Nova 154 was a standard, DX-class,

Commonwealth Colonizer Train-Ship. From stem to

stern, she measured 40 kilometers in length. Ten of

these kilometers were occupied by her drive systems.

Arranged around her spine were 44 colony seed pods ---

self-contained inhabitation structures containing fuel,

supplies, and instructions sufficient to begin settlement

on alien worlds. Most were imprinted with the intersecting

red line logo of the Omega Nova Development

Consortium. The pods were shaped like squat pyramids

with flatted tops and tapered bases. Smal er pods held

additional equipment, tools, and processing gear for air

and water. Also on board were 968,000 embryonic

human beings, 2,200 adult human colonial volunteers

and children in stasis, and a crew of 190 people and 50

mechanoids.

Omega Nova 154 was prepping for a one-way, six-

decade journey to the far side of the galaxy, the Perseus

Quadrant. Fol owing on the heels of the survey and

preparation ships, it would be her job to begin or

augment colonies on 22 Terra-class planets. She

currently orbited Bel wether colony, a pretty world of dark

blue oceans and rust red continents; the nearest world to

the Chrysanthemum StarLock. Its night sky was bright

with densely packed stars. Bel wether’s position near the

edge of the galactic core made it an ideal jumping off

point for ships heading to the Outer Arms.

An entire deck of Omega 154’s primary operations

module was given over to monitoring cargo. Two cargo

specialists, Potts and Nero, were watching the machines

that monitored the colonizer ship’s cargo. It was

incredibly boring.

Nero was very tal and thin, with dirty blonde hair cut

efficiently and unimaginatively. A single thin

communication wire extended from his ear to the corner

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of his mouth. “Confirm pal et Zeta-660 locked into Colony

Pod 21. Al connects green. Pal et secure.”

“Confirmed and acknowledged,” said a female voice

on the other side of the VOX Link. “We are gone, Cargo

Control.”

“Go safely,” Nero told her. “CC out.”

“I am so bored,” Potts reclined in his couch and

stretched.

“In six days this ship leaves for Chrysanthemum

Station,” Nero pul ed up the navigational plots. “Then,

sixty-one-point-five-nine years in hyperspace.”

“That failed to make me not bored,” Potts groaned.

Potts was short and lithe, with unfashionable facial hair.

He teased his fel ow launch technicians to cope with his

boredom. It was a barrier to his popularity, though he

didn’t realize it.

“When the ship is on its way, we go back to ground. I

think you would like that,” Nero answered.

Potts shrugged. He watched as Nero reviewed

Omega Nova 154’s itinerary, the 22 worlds it would be

cal ing on. “You wish you were going?”

Nero laughed. “Yeah-no, my wives would just love

that. Maybe, someday, if the Perseus StarLocks are ever

finished.”

Potts leaned even further back in his chair. “Do you

have any of your own babies going out there with it?”

“Probably,” Nero answered, shrugging. He didn’t

want to go into detail.

Potts seized on this. “I’ve got hundreds, thousands

maybe. I used to give my juice to the In Vitro Project

before it was canceled.”

“I am surprised they took it,” Nero replied.

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Potts reached into the comestibles locker and

popped open a bottle of ‘Jizz’ (a clear, citrus-flavored

carbonated beverage with a particularly raw marketing

scheme). “Kinda like the thought of having al those

offspring, living on after me, on the far side of the galaxy.

You ever think about how al these little ‘bryos gonna

spend the next sixty-five years growing up in a tube…

and when they wake up, they think they’re real y people,

but it’s al just memories an AI programs into them.”

Nero was getting bored with the conversation. “It tel s

them what they need to know, and gives them memories

so they don’t go crazy.”

“Phony memories!” Potts insisted, Jizz spraying from

his lips. “Artificial memories. Bedtime stories written by

androids and told them by robots.”

He leaned across his couch, uncomfortable close to

Nero. “And what real y gets me is, how do we know that

everything we think is a memory isn’t just some fake

implant to keep us from going insane?”

“Mine are real!” Nero insisted. “My mom and dad are

stil alive. They live in Magnuson. I have two brothers and

a sister. We spend every Feast of Alms together. I don’t

know about yours.”

“Oh, I got memories… I remember a whole lot I don’t

even want to remember.” Potts grinned and tapped the

side of a rack. “And every one of these embryons is

going to have their head fil ed with warm, fake, childhood

memories scripted by… professional fiction writers

Omega Nova pays to write phony childhoods. The ones

from the same sperm and egg donor even get fed

memories that they grew up as brother and sister.

Sometimes, they just buy people’s childhood memories

and use those. None of it’s real. They aren’t even real.”

“Who?” Nero asked, not sure which “they” Potts

meant.

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“The embryons. They grow up in a tube and the

companies program them to do whatever they need done

out there. They’re practical y no different than robots.”

Nero cleaned his nails on his pants leg. Potts moved

in stil closer. “How do we know that we weren’t made the

same way? Or our parents?”

“They only use this program for the outermost

colonies,” Nero protested.

“So, they tel us.” Potts displayed the kind of grin that

made others want to punch him. “Nobody knows what

happens when they reach the other side. For al we know

they wake up as deranged cannibals and kil everything

in sight.”

“Potts, shut the hel up,” Nero said. Pretty much

everybody said that to Potts, eventual y. As far as Nero

was concerned, he was real, what he did made him who

he was, and that was the end of it.

Potts was quiet for a few moments, and then he

leaned in close, a demented grin on his lips, and

whispered, “How do we know we aren’t artificial

memories being programmed into someone else?”

Vulpecula Sector -

22 586 Vulpecula IV – 63 Solar Years Later

Enveloped in re-entry flame, the colony pod burned

through the green-blue sky like a giant firebal . Strange

creatures looked up from the surface, watched it fal , or

dashed to find a hiding place from the thundering thing

bearing down from the sky. After it passed, they returned

to the animal business of mating, fighting, and eating

each other.

As it crossed 2,000 meters of altitude, the pod’s

orientation thrusters fired to put the colony pod upright.

At 1000 meters, landing rockets fired, sending a blast of

hurricane-force wind through the landing area. The pod’s

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final moments of descent were hidden in an expanding

cloud of dust and debris.

When the dust cloud had settled, the pod’s braincore

began the activation sequence for bringing the colonists

out of stasis. There were 1,800 of them in total, but they

would not al be awakened at once. There was a

sequence to be fol owed. The last of them would not

come out of stasis for another 210 days… about a third

of 22 856 Vulpecula IV’s long year.

About 200 of them would never awaken. The failure

rate for stasis transport was usual y one or two per cent.

Omega Nova was proud of its safety record.

On level 84, a stasis pod opened. Its occupant,

Adrian Bronstein, opened his eyes, and was immediately

aware of the sound of wind and a need to vomit. He

unstrapped himself from his pod, fel to the deck and

puked out a cold, pink liquid that had fil ed and stabilized

his digestive system for the long journey. His last

memory was of being pumped ful of it at

Chrysanthemum Station.

When he finished, he drew in the first real breath he

had ever taken, although he did not know it was his first.

There was a warm towel nearby, he took it, and

wiped himself off. Then, he said his first words.

“Shipmother, status report.”

“Arrival sequence complete,” the colony pod

answered him. A screen projected in the air in front of

him, showing an external view. He reached into the

locker adjacent to his pod and pul ed on his clothes,

thinking wistful y that it had been over sixty years since

he had put them in the locker, although it seemed like

only last night. He remembered the shuttle that had

taken him to Chrysanthemum station, and most of, or at

least selected highlights, from that last wild night before

he boarded the pod for its journey here.

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Or was he remembering his last night at Ad Astra

University, where he spent six years learning everything

he would need to know to help establish a human

footprint on a world 60,000 light years from his home on

Balthazar colony in Scorpio, where he had grown, where

he had memories of being captain of his groundball team

and playing cross-wickets with kids from the

neighborhood. It was al a jumble.

He shook his head, as though trying to sort the

memories. He remembered from his training that

prolonged cryostasis often affected human memory;

mixing up events was common. It was better not to dwel

on it. There was a lot of work ahead.

But his first order of business was to clean himself up

and drink the required nutrient mix. Others would be

awakening soon, and would be looking to him. He and

entire brigade of colonists had gone through training

together, and he had emerged as their leader on the

basis of performance and test scores. He remembered

how hot the sun had been on Pukayet continent where

the training camp had been.

He cleaned himself in the mist-wash and dressed. He

then went into the lounge area, took a can of Required

Nutrients from the larder, and sat down on the padded

metal bench. A monitor showed him that four pods in his

section had been activated. “Is anyone else ful y revived,

Shipmother?” he asked.

“Affirmative,” the pod responded.

“We’re here, thank God,” said a voice behind him

before he could inquire who else was alive. He turned to

his brother, Aidan, pul ing on his old battered flight jacket over the standard issue coveral s of the Omega Nova

Pioneer Service. His hair was a mess, but then, it always

was; although there were rumors hair stil grew in stasis.

His old aviator’s cap was tucked under his arm. That

outfit must have taken a huge amount of argument to

approve for transport.

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“You didn’t think we would make it?” Adrian raised an

eyebrow.

“Hate the idea of spending sixty years knocked out

inside a machine going through hyperspace.” Aidan had

trained to be an aviator on Balthazar. Adrian

remembered that somewhere in the lower decks was a

scout craft; that Aidan would help survey the planet and

establish the secondary and tertiary colony sites. “Let’s

get outside and take a look at this bitch.”

“Is it safe, Shipmother?” Adrian asked.

“Affirmative,” the pod responded, and then provided a

map to the nearest external hatch.

Together, they walked the cold metal deck until they

reached a hatch. Adrian hit the inner hatch, which slid up

upward. An outer hatch on the other side slid downward.

“Whoa!” said Aidan.

The pod had landed near a stretch of beach, rocks

and sand spread for kilometers on either side. There

were hil s and woods beyond. Cottony cirrus clouds

laced a bril iant blue-green sky where a single bright

yel ow sun peeked through. They felt its warmth on their

faces and at that moment, it sank in; this world was going

to be their home. They would live here, and they would

die here. As pioneers, they would make this world

whatever it would become.

“We made it, buddy,” Adrian grinned from ear to ear,

and he and his brother shared a quick hug, fol owed by

drawing back from each other with fists raised, a thing

they remembered doing since they were little kids.

When they had finished admiring the view, Aidan

pul ed on his aviator’s cap and turned to get back into the

colony. “Shipmother wil be thawing out my wife soon. I

think she’l want to see me when she wakes up.”

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ELECTRA IV

When the Galactic Commonwealth fell to the

Tarmigan Apocalypse (c. Solar Years 5200-5400),

those colonies that survived were left to fend for

themselves. Many of them failed. This is the story of

one of them.

Michi saw the buzzer swoop down on Torrance, but

could do nothing but watch as it enveloped him in its

glittering tentacles and carried him into the sky.

She buried herself in loose dirt and laid in the cold,

cold ground for a long while thereafter. Buzzers were

sensitive to electromagnetic emissions and movement.

The dry dirt and the material of her poncho shielding her

body heat, she had a chance of escaping detection until

the machines moved on.

She thought she ought to have felt something related

to Torrance’s death. Living in the tunnels, scrounging for

food, hiding, crying, dropping from exhaustion and

despair. She tried feeling angry, for Torrance letting the

Machine take him, but failed in that also. Al she could

think was, there were no longer three people alive on the

planet Electra, only two.

Finally, she sucked in a great slow stinging breath of

the desert’s cold, ozone-tainted air. She pushed herself

up to her knees, waited and listed, then stood and shook

the sand from her hair.

Ahead of her was a vast landscape of dehydrated,

gray-beige broken on the horizon by outcroppings of

black volcanic rock. Most of Electra was like this, as

though God had run out of ideas and left the planet half-

finished.

She checked the map again, stretching it between

her thin brown hands. It was not a proper map, just

pictures and lines crudely drawn with blood and berry

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juice on an old rag. What she was looking was at least

another hour’s walking, maybe two. But there was no

longer a choice. Once she had oriented herself, she

began walking.

---

Three years previously, a ship shaped like a vertical

ring almost ten kilometers high had appeared in the sky

above Tulare, the primary settlement of Electra colony.

Thirty-two buzzers descended from the ship and

attacked the school, carrying off al twenty-nine students and three teachers. Among them were Michi’s husband

and son.

After the attack, the giant ship hovered over the city

for nine months. It did not launch further attacks, nor did it respond to their efforts to contact it. It waited.

---

After three hours of walking in the cold, she reached

the wreckage of the Sandworm. It sprawled in a half-twist

over the hil where it died. Organic components clung to

its al oy skeleton like dried leather. Sandworms were

gigantic machines the original colonists had deployed to

tear through Electra’s surface and digest the sterile sand

rock into soil for the crops and trees that would

eventual y cement life’s claim to this barren world.

She entered through a broken segment link. It was

completely dark on the inside and she felt her way along

until her hands found the latch. She pul ed it upwards.

Stale, dry air, centuries old, escaped in a hiss, provoking

a coughing fit that almost rendered her unconscious. A

dim light came on in the cabin, startling her for a

moment. She took it as a sign that the old wreck stil had

what she was looking for.

Her eyes adjusted to the feeble output of the light

source, and she saw lockers along one wal . She opened

the first locker, empty. She opened two more before

finding one that contained food. She ripped open the

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packaging. The contents were flavorless, but they made

her stomach stop hurting. Maybe eating three-hundred

year old food wasn’t safe, but she calculated she was

more likely to starve or be taken by the machines than

die from whatever was in the packaging.

---

A year and a day after the ship arrived, a swarm of

buzzers descended from it. For five days and nights,

they had picked off the human inhabitants of New

Tulare, one at a time, two, whole families and taken

them to the Mothership, from which none ever returned.

---

She stuffed more packages of food into her rucksack

before leaving the locker. Feeling her through the dark,

she final y came to the Engine Room. The door was

heavy, and she was weak, but it gave way with a

grinding protest that shocked her with its volume.

In the darkness of the room, she quickly found the

fat, round reactor core. It took her a long-time to pry out

the first power rod, longer than she had figured. And

when it came free, there was only the faintest red glow at

the bottom. Despair clawed her guts. She fought it,

moved to the next slot and began prying free another

power rod.

After so long, she knew there was no hope of finding

a rod that stil glowed bright blue, or even green. But she

did not need a ful y charged power rod. In fact, with

Torrance gone, she needed even less.

The second rod came free, and it glowed dimly

amber. She sighed. Another one like this, and the

journey would have been worthwhile.

She worked for another two hours. When she was

done, she had col ected five rods whose dim red glow

indicated they were nearly exhausted, one cold black

rod, devoid of energy, and three precious amber-yel ow

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power rods. They were heavy, and she had to balance

her pack on her shoulders to make the trip back.

The sun was waning when she left the SandWorm.

Perhaps three-quarters of the day was gone. She did not

want to be caught out at night… when the aliens had the

edge. She set her return course, and began walking,

deliberately not looking at the sky.

---

When the harvesting stopped, there were twenty-

eight colonists left. They had escaped the colony pod

and hidden in the underground maglev tunnel that ran

between Tulare and Modoc 1,000 kilometers away. The

tunnels had been unused since Modoc was abandoned.

They sealed the gates behind them, and fil ed the

tunnels to the city with rubble. For the next two years,

they ventured outside the tunnels only for water, or for

increasingly precious food. The diet of ground nuts

became so monotonous as to drive her to madness.

Even roasted insects were a welcome respite. Those

trips outside were when the machines picked them off,

one at a time.

---

Michi reached the base as the sun was low, shadows

were lengthening, and the color of the sky had gone from

white to a pale gold that would ripen to a weak saffron as

the sun ended its sixty-hour transit. Sunsets were not

much on this world. The white giant sun and the thin

oxygen-argon atmosphere did not vary the color much.

She climbed down through the ventilation shaft and

sealed the hatch behind her. The alcove appeared empty

at first, but she knew it was not. “Byron, I’m here,” she

said. “Torrance is dead.”

Byron emerged slowly from one of his many hiding

spaces, this one a niche in the wal covered by old

structural panels. Byron was short, and had been chubby

in the days before the Machines came. Now, he was thin

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and wiry, His nose had always been too large for his face

and now it was even moreso. He managed to keep his

hair clipped short with tools from an old electrical kit.

She tossed him one of the food packs from the

SandWorm, and took one of the water packs that lined

the rack along one wal . The water inside was bitter,

tasted of acid. Electra’s water had always tasted faintly

bad. Without the processors, it now it tasted strongly

bad. But she needed it.

Byron tore open his food pack. “Is it safe?”

“No,” she told him. “But what is?” Michi mixed some

powdered Geneberry into her water. Geneberry made for

an even more bitter taste, but sanitized and

decontaminated the water.

Byron drew out the food with his fingers, and inserted

into his mouth. “Bloody awful.” She had no answer for

that. He ate two more handfuls before asking. “Did they

get Torrance die?”

“Yes.”

“Godforsaken Machines. They just waited until we

were too weak to fight back. And while we sat out here

on the Outer Rim, they destroyed the Commonwealth.”

He stopped and ate some more. Then, he said, “Let’s

have sex.”

“No, Byron.” She just wanted to sleep. She had

managed to assemble a bed from pads and blankets

they had raided from an old outpost at the edge of

Tulare. It was in a space she could close off behind a

heavy metal panel.

---

Even before the aliens came, Electra had not been

much of a place. The Commonwealth surveyors had

rated it a Terra sub-Beta class world. Habitable, but in

need of extensive terraforming. Their ancestors had

come to do that, but were left behind when the

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Commonwealth col apsed. The terraforming engines

eventual y failed, but the colonists hung on. Some of her col eagues thought if they hung on long enough, their

bodies would adapt to the planet’s environment, like the

genetical y altered, protein-enhanced ground nuts that

were one of the few food crops that thrived on Electra IV.

Michi was certain evolution didn’t work that way. The

aliens made the question irrelevant.

---

In her dream, she dreamt of making love to her

husband and to Torrance as wel . They were sharing her.

Her son waved at her from a great distance, and she felt

self-conscious that he would be watching such a thing.

She awoke to a tickling sensation. Something was

crawling across her arm. She shook her arm and

whatever it was… probably a cockroach … was thrown

aside.

There were aches in her elbows and knees, and her

stomach felt knotted up. It might have been the three

hundred year old food. Byron was nowhere near. He had

to be sleeping in one of his hiding places. Deciding she

was rested enough, she grabbed the bag where the food

and power rods were hidden, stood, and moved aside

the grate that covered the ventilation shaft. They had

fil ed the connecting passageway to the tunnel with

debris to keep the Machines out, but a slender

crawlspace connected the service alcove to the tracks.

The lights in the tunnel glowed continuously, absorbing

light from the surface.

The vehicle resting on the tracks had been, in its past

life, a maintenance sled, used to ferry tools and workers

down the maglev line. She had found it 60 kilometers

down the track, and had spent many long days dragging

it back to their shelter; back when there were stil eight of them left. To minimize weight, Torrance and another

survivor, Ming, had stripped it down to its essentials;

frame, floor, controls, and power plant. Uliana and Jace,

who had been engineers in the colony, got the engine

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working again. It was ugly, like an insect with the

carapace removed. But with power from the rods, it

would carry them. It only had seats for four, but attrition

had resolved that problem.

“Good morrow,” said a voice, almost making her

jump. Byron was already awake.

“Last night, you never asked me if I found what I was

looking for,” she replied, slowly removing the first rod

from her pack.

“I did, but you were half-asleep.” He eyed the rod. “Is

there enough?”

“I think so. With Torrance gone, we have sixty fewer

kilograms of weight, which means we have a better

chance of making the fuel last until we get to Modoc.

“To die there, rather than here.”

She wasn’t about to get into this argument again.

Before the two outposts had consolidated, Modoc had

been the Ag Station of Electra colony. There was a

chance that food stil grew in the abandoned agro-pods.

Maybe the machines were there, too, but more likely they

weren’t since there were no people there. A slim chance

at survival in Modoc was better than the certain death

that awaited them here.

There was no longer any thought of rebuilding the

colony. At best, they could hope to be left alone to live

out their lives. Compared to the previous two years, it

would be like paradise.

She slipped the rod into the receptacle on the sled’s

power plant and inserted the power leads into their

connectors at the base of the distributor. For a few

seconds, nothing happened. Then, a faint hum arose

deep inside the power block. Black-faced instruments at

the front of the sled came to life with electric blue

characters and pictograms. Michi studied them, and as

she did, a strange feeling of desperate hope came over

her. “It works,” she said. “Let’s go.”

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“Now?” Byron was shocked. “Shouldn’t we test it, or

pack up or something?”

She careful y lowered the vehicle’s power settings to

minimum idle. She felt a little uncertain. Piloting the

vehicle was to have been Torrance’s job, but she was

pretty sure she remembered enough to do it. “There’s

nothing to stay here for.”

Byron began shaking. “I’ve grown attached to this

cave, and maybe to being alive.”

“We’re dying, Byron,” she told him. “We haven’t been

safe here, not ever. We just lasted longer than anybody

else.”

Byron stood shaking in the dark, unable to move.

“Grab al the food and water we have left and get on,”

she ordered him.

To add punctuation, she expended a few precious

units of energy to rev the maintenance sled. She

understood him not wanting to leave; there was certainty

here. What waited for them in Modoc, if they could even

make it there, was unknown.

Ultimately, Byron did as he was told, gathered their

meager stores, and climbed onto the sled behind her.

Her thumb nudged the accelerator. The sled only shook

a little, less than she had expected, before finding its

footing on the rails. Slowly, it began to move along the

tunnel. Michi felt no need to look back. She thought

Byron might, and she pushed the accelerator forward a

little more. This time, there was a little jerk as the craft

sped up.

One more acceleration and the little maintenance

alcove where they had hidden from the machines

disappeared behind them, and they were speeding along

the tracks to whatever lay ahead.

---

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The tunnel passed by them as a monotonous, rock-lined

tube with nothing to break the monotony except the

luminous markers, every 10 kilometers; red ones marking

the distance from Tulare, blue ones marking the distance

to Modoc.

---

In the first two days, they covered over 600

kilometers, which meant that they would arrive in Modoc

with at least a few short-days worth of food to tide them

over while they found out if any kind of food remained

there.

They shut the sled down for a few hours at night to let

the powerplant cool and prevent it from overloading.

They drank what little water they had, and ate some of

the food of which they had even less. They didn’t talk

about what they would find in Modoc. They could have

hoped that the aliens would not be there, that whatever

food was there would be edible, not rotten or not yet ripe,

and that there would maybe be a habitation pod safe for

living. But they didn’t dare hope for any of those things

out of the fear that the act of hoping for them would make

only seal their eventual disappointment.

She squinted. The tunnel seemed to be growing

lighter ahead. Suddenly, they emerged into daytime

brightness. She looked up, and the worst expletive in her

vocabulary leapt from her lips.

The tunnel was open. This part of the system was

above ground, and the tunnel that enclosed it had

col apsed. A second later, they were in tunnel again, but

only for a few seconds before bursting into daylight.

She felt Byron stiffen behind her. She wondered how

much electro-magnetic radiance the sled was putting out.

She wondered if the machines could detect it from

Tulare.

They managed to travel in this manner for most of the

day. There were stretches of surviving tunnel, but most

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of the time they were open. She had no idea when, or

even if, the train went underground again. But they had

no choice now, they would have to make it to Modoc.

They slowed to a halt as the sun was setting; the

powerplant was getting hot again, and had to be rested.

They were on a flat, boulder-strewn plain with nothing to

shelter them.

They rested and waited for the powerplant to cool.

From behind them came a buzzing sound.

“No!” Michi screamed. She refused to look behind

her. Byron also began screaming, an incoherent stream

of obscenities, terror, fury, and despondency in equal

measure. She pushed the thruster forward al the way.

The sled shot forward. The sky was fading orange to

purple. A shadow passed over her, like a big fat insect

trailing a mass of glinting steel tentacles.

She pressed the accelerator, but it was already at the

limit. Another shadow buzzed her. Instinctively, she

ducked. The sled was maxed. She scanned frantical y to

see if there was a tunnel ahead.

Then, the sled did pick up speed, about the same

time she no longer felt Byron’s mass behind her, and the

sound of his shouts tapered off and disappeared.

“No!”

It was the matter of an instant for the metal tentacles

to wrap around her, squeezing her in a strangling

embrace, and she no longer felt the sled beneath her.

There was a sense of being lifted high, high up. She

closed her eyes, daring not to look.

She blacked out.

---

An unknown amount of time passed, during which

she felt nothing and thought of nothing.

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---

She came back to consciousness staring into a bright

white light through eyes that had opened before her mind

awakened. She could see nothing beyond the light. She

could feel some kind of framework enclosing her body,

but could not tel if she were upright or lying down. She

was thoroughly paralyzed, but she could feel hair-thin

metal filaments probing into her body in a hundred

thousand places, digging deeper, fil ing her with a tingle

of energy. She tried to open her mouth, but some kind of

mask was clamped over it, which kept her from

screaming.

The light faded, as though her mind had switched off,

diminished to a dot, then went out.

And for a long time she was nothing.

She had a dream that her legs, arms, torso, and her

head from the back of her scalp to her face were being

stripped away, piece by piece, accompanied by a

sensation that tiny insects were crawling over and under

her skin. She was helpless to move.

She was uncertain whether she was dreaming or not

when her eyes opened again. She bo longer could feel

the cold metal frame around her body. She made out to

the concave space of a large empty chamber. No sooner

had she come to this realization than a vertical seam of

light appeared at the edge of the chamber, then parted.

The creature that entered looked vaguely humanoid;

a tal , slender feminine figure, covered with scales that

looked like tiny silver mirrors. When it came close, Michi

could not help staring at its el iptical, melon-shaped head

and large, mirror-like eyes, which expanded and

contracted like irises to convey the creature’s

expressions. The creature reached into her mind and

said:

There is no need to be alarmed. You are safe.

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There was no sound. The thoughts simply flowed into

Michi’s mind. It must have sensed her questions before

they even had time to form in her mind.

Your kind and our kind reached this system at the same time.

Your kind wanted the fourth planet, to create a home for

yourselves, one of many across the galaxy. The fourth planet

had water and oxygen, which are necessary for your survival.

There were deposits of silicon and pal adium on the third

planet, which are necessary for ours. Some of our kind chose

to settle there. Most of our kind left for the Galactic Core five hundred and six of the fourth planet’s years ago. Some

remained behind out of concern for your colony. We waited

and watched. We became concerned at your decline. At the

time your Commonwealth fel silent, there were 6,670 human

inhabitants of the fourth planet. At the time of our intervention, only 399 humans remained. This level was not sustainable.

“You mean you waited until we were to weak to

resist you!” She heard Byron’s voice. He must have been

nearby. “Aliens! Invaders!”

Not aliens. Machinekind. Descendants of the Artificial

Sentience your ancestors created. Not invaders, we did not

come to claim your planet. In our most fundamental

programming is an imperative to safeguard humans. You knew

we would become more powerful than you, so you wisely

made benevolence part of our defining matrix.

Michi flexed her fingers and felt energy pulsing

through them. “What have you to us?”

We had to re-make you. Your kind could not have survived

without adaptation to the environment. This planet was not

suitable for human life. After your terraforming equipment

failed, you’re decline was al but inevitable.

“So, why not just repair the terra-forming

equipment?”

The being cocked her abomination of a head and

touched her with one of her silvery fingers. Michi felt a

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direct transmission of knowledge. Many technical details

flowed into her mind and she understood why they could

not repair the terraforming machines. They had not been

properly calibrated to Electra’s environment to begin

with, and had made the problems so much worse that

the only way of saving the human population of Electra

had been to make them…

Suddenly, she could move. The knowledge had

released her. She stared at the strange white blur that

was her arm,

… something other than human.

The Machinekind disagreed.

Your new bodies have been programmed with the capacity to

experience interpersonal relationships, strive for self-

improvement, engage in reproductive activities, and on

occasion engage in pointless aggression. From our

understanding of your literature, we believed that those were the qualities that defined being human.

“Yeah, but we never real y meant any of that. It was

just sentimental bul shit,” Byron said.

“What happened to the Commonwealth? Do you

know?” Michi asked.

We do not. There are indications of some kind of catastrophe, but our data is insufficient to make a determination.

“Are there any other humans left… anywhere?”

We cannot answer this.

Now, Michi was able to turn, to see Byron. Shock

flowed throughout her body to see what he had become.

The man who stood before her was the figure of

Byron, clothed in translucent white skin. She could see –

no, more she could sense – energy flowing underneath

his skin in optical fiber veins. His face looked like it had

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before, but smooth and transparent as glass, surrounded

by a pale blue halo of light.

Your new bodies wil draw energy directly from the sun,

through a process of photosynthesis. Your perceptions have

increased by a factor of sixteen. Time wil seem to pass more slowly for you. This was necessary to adjust your metabolism

to accommodate your photosynthesis-based physiology and

the higher mental processing that wil be necessary both to

maintain your bodies and complete the adaptation of the planet to your needs.

“Are we the only ones?” Michi asked. “Did you need

to experiment on the entire colony to make us right?

We made sure the process was safe by testing it on the first

group of humans we transformed. We monitored their

development very closely before adapting the rest of the

colony. They are al waiting for you, your mate and ossspring as wel . You wil be returned to the surface soon. Your colony wil survive. You can produce additional offspring with the

reproductive system we provided.Genetics are no longer a

factor, so you may have them with whomever you choose.

“How wil that… work?” Byron asked.

---

Fifty-two years passed.

---

Michi rested on her bridge, looking out over New

Tulare. There were a hundred thousand inhabitants in

the city, and another ten thousand in New Modoc. There

were plans to seed ten new outposts with a thousand

persons each by year’s end. One would be named for

her.

New Tulare was different than the old Tulare

settlement. Spread out across the val ey were crystal ine

pyramids and tetragons arranged in neat lines radiating

from the core. Al clear to let in the life-giving energy of

Electra’s sun. At night, the city glowed with excess light

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absorbed during the day, plus that which the Pal adium-

Yttrium fusion generator provided. Its streets were lined

with fig and apple trees she and Torrance had recovered

from Modoc, and the strange silvery and purple trees the

geneticists had developed, plant-like based on the

physiological template the machines had given them.

A figure came upon her. “Grandmother, we are going

to the cloud-gardens, would you come with us?”

Michi had mothered ten children, and now had

sixteen grandchildren; al of whom had emerged ful y

formed from cocoon-like pods. The sensation of swirling

droplets of ionized water was highly pleasurable on their

curious skin. So the city had built the recreational cloud

gardens, which fil ed the largest of the geo-domes.

Michi rose. “Let us go. Where is your father?”

“Making birds,” she answered. That was what Hiroshi

did. He made electroid animals… that’s what the children

of the 399 cal ed themselves now, electroids. His work

creating new species from the template gave him a

sense of fulfil ment, which was roughly equivalent to

happiness.

She felt her granddaughter’s hand in her. When in

physical contact, emotions flowed between them. You

could hide nothing. There was no lying in the colony.

There were no secrets. They walked to the cloud

gardens, a distance of six kilometers they covered in an

instant. Many children were there, dancing in the mist

and rain. Their joy was so great it flowed into her, and

she felt wel -being. This was a good day to be alive.

She sometimes missed the taste of ground nuts.

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CAPTAIN HEPBURN

HAS SOME IDEAS

This scene was cut from Worlds Apart Book 12:

Earth. I added some explanatory material at the

beginning and the end to make it a more self-

contained.

No one knew the hour or the day the Aurelian Fleet

would reach the Earth system. What they knew – based

on the absolute catastrophe at Charlemagne – was that

the Fleet of Orion would be badly outnumbered and the

Aurelian onslaught would tear through them like fire

through paper. Not a single battle simulation predicted

victory, and the only model that offered a slim chance

that some of them might survive was immediate retreat.

But retreat would mean surrendering their only hope

for ultimate victory; an ancient weapon of immense

power stashed away before the Earth was scoured in the

Tarmigan onslaught of the 53rd Solar Century. They had

to find the weapon because if the Aurelians did, because

the Aurelians would use it to exterminate the human

race.

TyroCommander Alkema had to believe there were

other options to retreat and destruction; some way to

make their thin fleet of ten Fast Attack Corvettes, two

frigates, three cruisers, and Pegasus withstand an

armada of at least thirty Aurelian heavy assault and six

hundred attack ships. He cal ed the commanders and

tactical officers of al the ships in the fleet to Pegasus in hopes of coming up with a strategy… even a longshot

strategy… that gave them any chance to prevail.

The officers from the large ships were invited to join

in person; Commander Antonides of the cruiser Axiom of

Force, Commander Easton of the cruiser Constel ation; Tactical TyroCommander Blankenship of the cruiser

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Helaman. The Heavy Frigate Ratatoskr had sent their Chief Tactical Officer, a scruffy, hard-bitten Wolverian

named Elkhound. Commander Cross of the heavy frigate

Atomic Dog came himself , a middle aged man with receding hairline and large basset hound eyes, and

Alkema’s own Tactical Chief, Lt. Commander Ana

Taurus Rook.

For reasons of space – the Tactical Lab was not

designed for large meetings – the FAC officers were

invited to attend via HOLO Link. The holograms of most

of the FAC commanders and tactical officers, including

Commander Solomon Tosca of the FAC Tyras Magnum,

Commander Jean-Jean Navarre of FAC Regina Furens,

and Commander Arrick Woden and TyroCommander

Philip John Redfire from the FAC Fighting Mongoose,

were projected as transparent forms in the room.

Alkema cal ed the meeting to order. “Before we get

into this… those joining in person, help yourselves to

snacks and drinks from the side bar. Also, the hygiene

pods are outside the main hatch on the left side of the

corridor. I know we have al reviewed the tactical

scenarios provided by Fleet Commander Trawick, and

they look grim. However…”

Alkema was interrupted when the hatch slid open and

in marched Commander Tracy Hepburn of the FAC

Augustana, chin high, auburn hair pul ed into a bob at the back of her head. “Sorry I’m late everyone,” she

announced in her smoky patrician voice. “My shuttle just

docked.”

Alkema told her, “You were supposed to join

holographical y.”

She waved him aside. “Cal me old-fashioned,

TyroCommander, but I prefer a seat at the table.”

Alkema tried to explain, “That’s just it… we don’t

have enough seats.”

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Hepburn surveyed the table and fixed her gaze on

Blankenship. She jerked her head and he gave up his

chair. “Now, you do,” she announced, settling in at the

table. Blankenship took a position aside the snacks.

Alkema sighed and tapped the shiny black tabletop.

The Earth and the fleet projected above it in hologram

form. “Per Fleet Commander Trawick’s strategy, our

ships are currently deployed in a layered orbital picket

defense. Tactical Aquilae are deploying remote sensor

satel ites in solar orbit as we speak.” The hologram

demonstrated a team of smal satel ites spinning around

the sun like antique representations of atomic structure.

“These should be able to detect an Aurelian fleet

approaching from any vector at a distance of 24 solar

light hours.” That would give them some multiple of 24

solar hours to prepare, depending on what fraction of

light speed the Aurelians were making.

“Show ‘em what happens when the Aurelians show

up,” said Commander Woden.

Alkema advanced the simulation. The Aurelian fleet

arrived as a swarm of red triangles that quickly

overwhelmed and decimated their layered defenses,

obliterating the cruisers in high orbit first before

converging on Pegasus and then finishing her off along with the remaining frigates and corvettes .

“Wel , that doesn’t go very wel for us,” said Cross.

Fighting Mongoose had been in the thick of it at

Charlemagne, covering the fleet’s retreat, and

TyroCommander Redfire brought lessons learned from

that battle. “The capital ships hung back at Charlemagne

and their attack-fighters did al the kil ing. They aren’t

real y fighters, more like missiles with human slaves as

pilots. They only carry two anti-ship warheads and as far

as we can tel no defensive weapons or shields.”

Taurus Rook had run simulations. “One on one, our

star-fighters can match them, but they’re going to

outnumber our fighters at least six-to-one.”

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“So, we have to make every one of our fighters seven

times as lethal,” said Commander Antonides, scratching

his rusty trimmed beard

Tosca suggested, “If we put the FAC’s and fighters

around our capital ships in a phalanx formation, how

would that improve our odds.”

Taurus Rook had already run that simulation. “We

can hold out for a little while longer, but eventual y they

wear us down. We end up dead just the same.”

Captain Hepburn put in. “Maybe there’s a way we

could spoof their sensors, make them think we had more

ships then we do, distract them with decoys.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Alkema. “We don’t have

enough intel about how their sensors work to be able to

spoof them. But maybe we could work out a way to

misdirect them with fake power signatures or something.”

He made a note of the idea.

Commander Woden expanded on that point. “We

have to come up with more unconventional tactics like

that. Fighting them head on, we don’t stand a chance.

But if we adopted gueril a tactics, hid our ships, drew

smal numbers of Aurelians into ambushes, laid some

antimatter booby traps, we might be able to wear them

down and keep them preoccupied while our search

teams located the weapon.”

Commander Tosca pointed out, “Our real y big

problem is the Aurelian supercarrier.”

The Aurelian supercarrier dominated the hologram

display. Six gigantic rings were arrayed like a kind of

col ar behind a giant sphere, connecting it to a body of

cylinders stretching 90+ kilometers behind it. Next to it,

the Fleet of Orion was like a badling of ducks swimming

up to a Castel ian Megafreighter. The Supercarrier was

the base ship for the Aurelian attack fighters. Alkema and

Taurus Rook had been looking for a way to take it out

before it could launch them. “We’ve run simulations of

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what would happen if we threw the entire fleet at this ship

simultaneously.”

Commander Easton had a pretty good guess, “It

wouldn’t make a dent.”

“It wouldn’t make a dent,” Alkema confirmed. “The

Supercarrier’s shields and point defenses take us out

before we can get close enough to hurt them.”

Taurus Rook grumbled, “Too bad Fleet Commander

Trawick won’t let us use the Big Dam missiles. Those

could make a dent.”

Commander Navarre wouldn’t heard of it. “Those

weapons are forbidden by interstel ar law. If we used

them, we would be no better than the Aurelians.”

“We’d be alive,” said Commander Cross. “That would

be better.”

Commander Woden had put some thought into an

alternative. “Whether its Big Dam missiles or just a whole

lot of Type-1 conventional anti-matter warheads , we

would have to get them inside their perimeter to do any

damage.” He poked his finger at the hologram of the

forward sphere of the Aurelian ship. “And that means

getting through their shields.”

Commander Hepburn stood up from the seat she had

kicked Blankenship out of and announced. “I am

responsible for the lives of 147 people on my ship. I’m

not going to sacrifice their lives unless we have some

chance of victory.” She walked to the head of the table,

spun dramatical y, and gestured toward the hologram. “I

don’t have confidence that we have any strategy that wil

accomplish that.”

“Do you have an alternative?” Alkema asked.

“I would like to suggest that we consider more…

radical … approaches. For example, TyroCommander

Alkema, according to your ship’s mission logs, you once

ignited a gas giant in the Eventide system.”

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Alkema wouldn’t take al the credit, “It was a group

effort.”

Hepburn brought up a map of the solar system on

one of the wal displays. “The fifth planet in this system is a Class III gas giant. If we could somehow lure the

Aurelian fleet into its vicinity, could you ignite it?”

Alkema fil ed in the rest, “And burn up their fleet in

the process.”

Hepburn snapped her fingers. “Exactly, like Ichabod

flying too close to the sun.”

Alkema shook his head. “It wouldn’t work.”

Hepburn put her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe in

the word impossible.”

Alkema scratched his chin. “Whether you believe in it

or not, what you are proposing is simply not possible.

The gas giant at Eventide was a Class I gas giant – 28

times more massive. The fifth planet – I think they cal ed

it Juno – doesn’t have enough mass to sustain stel ar

fusion. Besides, it took the most bril iant scientist I’ve

ever known months to develop and calibrate a device to

initiate fusion in the Eventide gas giant. We don’t have

that kind of time. And third, even if we had time, we

would need a mass converter, which we don’t have.”

Hepburn final y seemed to accept this. “I realized it

was a longshot, but we are up against long odds. We

have to consider longshot ideas.”

Commander Antonides said, “I thought Commander

Woden’s gueril a warfare idea had some Merit.”

But Hepburn had already switched her attention to

the Aurelian attack fighters. “Those attack fighters must

have some kind of coordination protocol; a signal

between them to coordinate their attacks. If we could

disrupt that signal - jam it, fil it with white noise, play

loud music, anything… they’d be unable to coordinate an

attack.”

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Alkema’s tactical team had already explored this

idea, but found it unfeasible. “We don’t know what

channel they use and unless the Aurelians are stupid,

they use a multi-channel system to prevent this exact

thing. And I don’t think the Aurelians are stupid.”

Woden’s hologram affected leaning against the wal

with his arms crossed. “And what would they do if we

disrupted the signal? Unless the Aurelians are very, very

stupid… and they’re not… they would revert to an

autonomous mode and stil be combat effective.”

Hepburn drew her jaw back like she had a toothache.

“Then we have to disable that supercarrier before it has a

chance to launch the attack-fighters. Have you

considered infiltrating the supership with a smal team of

commandoes, and taking down its defenses from the

inside.”

Alkema blinked a couple of times. “Have we

considered trying to infiltrate an alien ship the size of a

major city and deactivating its defensive systems from

the inside even though we’ve never seen them before?”

She snapped her fingers. “Exactly.”

“Negative, we have not considered that.”

Hepburn. “Perhaps, you should commander.”

“We’l stick a pin in that,” Alkema promised.

“The team could upload a virus into its Braincore,”

Hepburn suggested.

Commander Cross deadpanned, “Maybe some of the

team could disguise themselves as sexy lady Aurelians

to distract them.”

Several of the officers discreetly, and some less

discreetly, smirked at that. Hepburn chided them, “Don’t

be too critical. We need to explore every idea; every

option, no matter how crazy it may seem.”

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Commander Easton stated quietly, “I’d rather hear

some less-crazy ideas that have a chance of

succeeding.”

The commander of the FAC Honey Badger

suggested. “Woden’s plan might work, we’d have to

abandon the picket defense and break up the fleet into

operational units; two or three ship groups working

autonomously.”

Hepburn leaned in on the holographic model of the

Aurelian Supership. “It must have some weakness. We

just have to find it. If we had some way to depolarize the

Aurelian shields using an inverted tetryon field, we might

be able to get a warhead through during the intermittent

resequencing of their shield parameters.”

The other officers looked round at each other, trying

to figure out what “an inverted tetryon field” was.

Hepburn turned dramatical y and struck a pensive

posture. “Have we considered building a matter

implosion bomb?”

Alkema blinked at her. “A what?”

She didn’t have a diagram to refer to, so she

il ustrated with hand gestures. “Matter implosion bomb. It

works by supercharging the quantum bonds in atomic

nuclei, drawing in mass until it col apses into a

singularity. If we could place a matter implosion bomb

onto the Aurelian ships, they would col apse on

themselves and…” she snapped her fingers “…

disappear from existence.”

“I have never heard of a matter implosion bomb,” said

Taurus-Rook.

“That’s because it hasn’t been invented yet,” said

Hepburn. “It’s an idea my chief engineer came up with.

It’s based on sound principles… eminently plausible.”

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Tosca assessed this in a skeptical tone. “So al we

have to do is invent this weapon and smuggle one onto

each of the Aurelian ships, and then… flip a switch?”

“Exactly!” Hepburn snapped her fingers. “The

Aurelians would never see it coming.”

“I can’t see it coming either,” Anaconda Taurus said

under her breath.

“We can’t be afraid to try bold, forward-looking

solutions,” said Hepburn.

Captain Navarre disagreed. “It is far too late in the

game to try and develop a weapon of this complexity.”

Tosca added, “Even if we could, deploying that

weapon would be geometrical y more difficult than

developing it.”

Hepburn had an idea about that, too. “Are you

familiar with the story of the Trojan Cow from Ancient

Earth?”

They al had, they were tactical officers after al .

Hepburn explained anyway. “The Trojans were

defending the ancient city of Chicago, which had been

ribbed for their protection to prevent any enemy from

sneaking through. Their enemies presented them with a

golden cow, which was sacred to Trojan culture. They

took it into their city. But the cow had been trained to kick over the lanterns in its stable. It set the whole city on fire, and their enemies, the Spartans, were able to overrun

the city.”

She concluded, “We have to come up with a Trojan

Cow of our own, something so… enticing… that the

Aurelians will bring the mass-implosion weapon onto

their supercarrier.”

“Trick the Aurelians into bringing the mass-implosion

weapon we haven’t invented yet onto their ship,” Alkema

summarized. “Maybe your team could work on that and if

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you can build the bomb and come up with a delivery

system, we’l make it a plan. Moving on…”

But Hepburn wasn’t finished. “TyroCommander

Redfire, you used nanobots to attack an Aurelian ship in

the Bodicea System.”

Redfire’s hologram shifted uncomfortably. “Not so

much attack. I programmed the nanobots to carve a

personal message on the side of the hul .”

“Could we program an aggressive strain of nanobots

that could disable the Aurelian ships?”

“Making nanobots is easy, but we have the same

problem of how do we get them on the Aurelian ships?

Also, it would take them days to reproduce and do

enough damage to incapacitate the Aurelian ships. We’d

be long dead by then. Final y, even if we could make it

work, there’s a definite risk of the nanobots turning on

us.”

Hepburn sighed in frustration. She paced in front of

the main wal display. “Maybe we’re going about this the

wrong way. Have we considered… opening a quasi-

singularity into an alternate universe to create a

synergistic anti-tachyon pulse to create a temporal rift

and throw the Aurelians back in time?”

Commander Cross final y had enough. He buried his

face in his hands for a moment, and then stood up.

"These ideas are the most... amazing ideas I have ever

heard. Wow. I am just... astonished that so many

amazing ideas can come from just one person.

"I didn't come here thinking we were going to solve

the problem, but after hearing these bril iant ideas... I

think we have a real shot at not just surviving, but

actual y beating the Aurelians."

Hepburn beamed. "Which one did you like?"

"Al of them. I don't think we can afford to put al of

our eggs in one incubator. Run down every al ey, see

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where it goes. Belts and suspenders, guys. We'll have a

whole bag ful of tricks when the Aurelians show up.”

He put on a concerned face. "Of course, managing

four of five different ultimate weapon projects at the

same time would be a handful. Someone would have to

go without sleep, survive on kava and sheer

determination. Is there anyone among us capable..."

"I'll do it," Hepburn interrupted.

"Are you sure?" Cross knitted his eyebrows with

concern. "This would require, literal y, superhuman

effort."

Hepburn treated this as an affront to her pride. She

faced down Cross "I said I could handle it."

Cross sighed. "Wel , if you are wil ing to take it on, I guess no one understands your ideas better than you.

Now, for a delivery system, I think your Trojan Cow idea

is..." He blew a kiss off his fingertips. "Marvelous. We pack al of those weapons onto one ship, we get the

Aurelians to capture that ship by making them think the

Ancient Earth superweapon is on board. Then, once the

ship is inside their shields, we set off... everything... the mass effect bomb, the nanobots, the Tetrazzini inversion

field... al of it. Spaghetti against the wal . They'll never know what hit them."

"It would mean sacrificing one of our ships," said

Commander Tosca bitterly.

Cross nodded, his countenance grim. "That's

affirmative. One crew would have to make the ultimate

sacrifice. But they would save the other ten thousand of

us, and maybe the whole Al being-damned human race."

“Whoever did it… would become a legend,” Taurus

Rook added.

"We'll do it," said Hepburn without hesitation.

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Cross stood close to her, and spoke with quiet

melancholy. “It would probably be a suicide mission,

probably.”

"Not necessarily. We can stil make it out in the

interval between setting off the weapon and the

destruction of the supercarrier."

"It would be a matter of seconds," said Taurus Rook.

"It's al we'll need," Hepburn assured them with her hands on her hips. “ We’ve been through worse.

Augustana is a tough ship. We wil make it.”

Cross made an upturned, open-hand shrug. "There

you have it. The answer to our problem."

“Wel , we’re a long way from that,” Hepburn

conceded.

“Then, we have to no time to waste.” He put his arm

around her shoulder and began hustling her to the door.

“You should get started immediately. Get back to your

ship and tel your crew to prepare for the hardest work

they’ve ever done. Tel us what resources you need, we’l

be sure you have them.”

She seemed about to make an objection, but Cross

cut her off. “You… you mad bril iant genius… you may be

the only one here who can save our asses. I hope… I

pray… that you won’t let us down.”

“I won’t,” Hepburn promise, and marched down the

corridor.

After she was gone Cross sat down again. "So, does

anyone have any surplus technical personnel they could

spare for Captain Hepburn’s Task Force?"

Most of the commanders nodded.

Cross nodded. "Al right, then. Let's see if we can

come up with any unconventional but practical ideas to

save the fleet and our own precious lives."

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FREE WORLDS – A WORLDS APART ANTHOLOGY

Document Outline

- Free Worlds: A Worlds Apart Anthology

- Fiddler’s Green

- Part One: From Queequeg’s Journal…

- Part Two: On Board the Aves Quentin

- Part Three – Fiddler’s Green

- Part Four – The Old Henning Place

- Epilogue: Queequeg’s journal.

- Independence

- Cotopaxi

- Alpha Priori

- Triton Lyra

- “Cherchez la Femme”

- Pioneers

- (Solar Year 4774) Commonwealth of the Galaxy - Ursa Minor Sector – Pioneer IV Colony - Suburbs of New Andreas City

- Ursa Minor Sector - Pioneer IV Colony - New Andreas City

- Eridanus Sector - Bellwether Colony - Vitali Lobov Orbital Station

- Vulpecula Sector - 22 586 Vulpecula IV – 63 Solar Years Later

- Electra IV

- Captain Hepburn Has Some Ideas

Table of Contents

Free Worlds: A Worlds Apart Anthology

Fiddler’s Green

Part One: From Queequeg’s Journal…

Part Two: On Board the Aves Quentin

Part Three – Fiddler’s Green

Part Four – The Old Henning Place

Epilogue: Queequeg’s journal.

Independence

Cotopaxi

Alpha Priori

Triton Lyra

“Cherchez la Femme”

Pioneers

(Solar Year 4774) Commonwealth of the Galaxy - Ursa Minor Sector – Pioneer IV Colony - Suburbs of New Andreas City

Ursa Minor Sector - Pioneer IV Colony - New Andreas City

Eridanus Sector - Bellwether Colony - Vitali Lobov Orbital Station

Vulpecula Sector - 22 586 Vulpecula IV – 63 Solar Years Later

Electra IV

Captain Hepburn Has Some Ideas